


A season in Skyhold

by LazyAdmiral



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Fictober 2020, Multi, One Shot Collection, individual chapter ratings/tags to be added
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-10
Updated: 2021-02-06
Packaged: 2021-03-09 01:07:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 31
Words: 45,148
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27496183
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LazyAdmiral/pseuds/LazyAdmiral
Summary: There's a surprising amount of downtime between battling Red Templars, saving empires and crushing Tevinter cults. A short snapshot into the more minor trials and tribulations of the Inquisition under Inquisitor Lia Lavellan.~A collection for my fills for Fictober 2020. Individual ships, ratings and tags available at the beginning of every chapter.
Relationships: Female Inquisitor/Josephine Montilyet (pre-romance), Female Lavellan/Josephine Montilyet (pre-romance), Gereon Alexius/OC, Gereon Alexius/Orsino, Gereon Alexius/Orsino/OC, Iron Bull/Dorian Pavus (pre-romance), Orsino/OC
Kudos: 6





	1. "No, come back..." (Alexius/Orsino/OC)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt 1: "No, come back."  
> Characters/Ship: Annia 'Ana' Faberius (OC); Gereon Alexius; Orsino [Alexius/Orsino/OC]  
> Rating: Teen  
> Warnings: None

The bed was delightfully warm.

It may have been the woollen blanket and heavy furs blocking out the worst of the cold from the Frostbacks, or the sun rising over the mountains and peeking through the thick, double-lined curtains. It might even have been the lingering heat from the wood burner in the corner, after a few subtle enchantments to keep the fire burning just that little bit longer.

Personally, however, Ana would put her money on the two wonderfully warm bodies by her side in the bed.

One of which, she noted with some consternation, appeared to be trying to get up.

Not even bothering to open her eyes, she rolled on to her side enough to free her right arm and throw it over the shifting form, earning a lovely and low rumbling sort of chuckle.

“So, is your plan to lie abed all day, my lady Enchanter?” Alexius murmured, careful not to disturb the bed’s other occupant.

Ana peeked open one eyelid to find the older man observing her with a teasing glint in his eye, the corner of his mouth twitching upwards ever so slightly, as if the muscles remembered the movement but lacked the confidence to commit. She resolutely closed her eye again, tightening her arm and burying her head into the pillow by his shoulder with a muffled, but affirmative, “ _Hmph_.”

The chest under her arm shook in silent mirth for a moment.

“An eloquent argument, I concede, but if I may suggest a counterargument – surely the Inquisition’s arcane advisor will be missed if she tarries too long, especially in the company of her lovers? Your sister would hardly be pleased to find you so distractable from your duties.”

Ana gave a quiet groan, turning her head just enough to settle her chin on Alexius’ shoulder, aiming a lacklustre glare at his profile.

“My sister has no room to talk about being ‘distractable’, given she keeps running late because she’s been sat mooning over the _lovely Lady Josie_ ,” she grumbled, before nudging her forehead against his temple. “Also, are you always this wordy in the morning?”

“Yes, he is,” came a sleepy rumble from behind her shoulder, and Orsino shifted on the bed, curling up cat-like against her back. He shifted her braid to one side to press a quick kiss to the nape of her neck before he settled again. “You’re just usually still asleep by this time.”

Alexius made a noise like stifling another laugh – and wasn’t that a wonderful sound, after months of aching quiet and flat, empty words – and took advantage of her distraction to slip out from her grasp. She would later deny the undignified squawk she made at the sudden rush of cold air under the blankets, or the way her lips pouted as she watched Alexius begin to potter around her room.

“No, come back...” she wheedled, ignoring Orsino’s quiet, somewhat undignified snort against her shoulder blade. It was hardly her fault she hated mornings. Or the cold.

Still, there was something oddly comforting about seeing the former Magister move around her quarters with familiarity, relighting the burner, washing and dressing before pulling back the curtains to fully let in the growing daylight. She knew the real reason for his early morning departure, of course. Bad enough the inner circle of the Inquisition knew one of their advisors was tumbling with their prisoner-turned-researcher – he seemed intent on ensuring no one else had to find out.

She made a mental note to talk to him about that. This wasn’t some southern Circle where she had to sneak around, and she had no intention of being ashamed of her choice of lovers. Especially when Alexius was their lover – just as much as she was Orsino’s and he hers – and she meant that in every sense of the word.

His smile was still slightly teasing as he returned, now dressed, to take a seat at the side of the bed. A glance towards the slowly-waking man at her back and the smile turned softer and warmer still.

“My apologies for another early morning.”

Orsino sighed, shifting to sit up slightly – ignoring Ana’s protestations that _now her back was cold too_ – and leaning over her to catch the other man’s lips in a short kiss, a gentle thing little more than lips and breath, before parting again.

“I have no doubt you’ll find _some_ manner to make amends,” he replied, letting an elegant hand linger against Alexius’ jaw before he laid back down again, tugging the covers up around his shoulders and reclaiming the spot at her back.

Alexius hummed at that, catching her eye.

“Would stopping by the kitchens and having them send up your precious morning coffee be a start?” he asked.

Ana narrowed her eyes, pretending to ponder the question, before grinning. She moved to sit up and he met her halfway, lips warm and sure against her own. She pressed in a little more, fingers curling in his robes and she toyed for half a moment with the idea of tempting him back into bed. But she thought better of it – for now, at least – and let him go with an easy smile and the promise of a few more minutes warmth under the covers and a fresh pot of rich Antivan coffee on its way.

The rest of the day could wait – for a little longer, at least.


	2. "Unacceptable, try again." (Josephine/OC)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt 2: "Unacceptable, try again."  
> Characters/Ship: Aeliana 'Lia' Lavellan; Josephine Montilyet [Josephine/OC pre-romance]  
> Rating: Gen  
> Warnings: mild angst/self-doubt

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Lia is a non-canon Lavellan. She's originally from Tevinter, along with her sister Ana. After coming south, the sisters eventually parted ways with Ana going to the Circle and Lia taking up various jobs as a thief and con artist. After a job went wrong, she was taken in by Clan Lavellan and ended up working as a liaison for the clan, reporting back information to them.

“Unacceptable, try again.”

Lia felt her shoulders drop for a fraction of a second at the tired-sounding words, before shaking it off and returning to her original stance.

_Feet together, arms back…_

She’d practically jumped at the chance when Josephine had first offered some personal dancing lessons to prepare her for the Winter Palace. She’d been so caught up in the fanciful notion of sweeping the fair ambassador off of her feet with a twirl and a charming grin that she’d quite overlooked the fact that the fanciest dance she knew was a common jig. 

Had Lia known what a gruelling taskmaster Josephine was, however, she might have reconsidered.

It didn’t help, of course, that any semblance of poise or grace she’d had seemed to have utterly abandoned her the minute they’d started. Lia couldn’t even entirely blame her lack of focus or two left feet on her hopelessly futile little crush (not that it was helping of course). In all honesty, it had started back in Haven.

Ana had been true to her word, and she hadn’t told a soul about how she’d caught her sister trying to run off during the celebrations at the sealing of the Breach. She didn’t even bring it up. But it didn’t matter. Lia knew – just like she knew if Corypheus’ attack hadn’t come when it had, she’d have been halfway back to the Free Marches before anyone was the wiser. She was no Herald. She was just another common fraud, and every moment someone else looked to her to help find solutions to another dozen problems, she felt more and more like she was buckling under the weight of the lie.

The feeling lingered as they began again. Music echoed softly around the otherwise empty storage room – mercifully far away from prying ears and eyes – from an enchanted violin that appeared to play by itself. Dorian had helped procure it, apparently, and as much as Lia didn’t want to add to the ‘Vint’s sense of self-importance, she was grateful for the lack of witnesses to her stumbling.

_Left-heel-turn-step-step-turn-step…_

She shuffled, misstepped, and grimaced her way through most of a courante. Every time she thought she was starting to get the hang of it, she’d become aware of the warmth of a steady hand against her arm, the slide of satin slippers against the floorboards, the delicate frown lingering over soft, dark eyes – and a cold dread in her stomach would follow, reminding her of just how unworthy of it all she was.

“Wait, wait – stop!” Josephine didn’t raise her voice – she rarely did – but there was a firmness to her tone that had Lia (and the violin) freezing in place.

She cringed, feeling heat rush to her cheeks, embarrassment and frustration at her own ineptitude burning in her chest.

“I’m sorry, Josephine. I really am – maybe it might be better to–”

The ambassador held up a hand, and Lia fell quiet. There was a curious look on Josephine’s face, something between mild bewilderment and genuine concern, and Lia felt her unease grow.

“Please, don’t apologise,” Josephine said after a moment. “I think the error here is mine.”

There was a horrible, swooping sort of feeling in Lia’s stomach and she opened her mouth to deny it, when the other woman beat her to it.

“No, I insist. I confess, I had thought this might be a more… well, _enjoyable_ way to prepare for Halamshiral,” she admitted, reaching up to tuck a stray lock of hair behind her ear, “but clearly I was mistaken.”

Her hands clasped tightly in front of her, Josephine offered an almost chagrined little smile, and perhaps it was a trick of the flickering lamps, but Lia could almost swear she was blushing as she added, “I am well aware that just because I enjoy formal dancing, it doesn’t mean everyone else does.”

Lia took a moment to process the words, eyes widening as she realised Josephine wasn’t criticising her skill – or lack thereof – but whether or not she was _enjoying_ it?

“But I do! Like it, I mean,” she blurted out quickly, earning an elegantly raised eyebrow from the ambassador. “No, really, I’m enjoying it, I just...”

She trailed off, looking away from Josephine’s sceptical frown as she chewed on her lower lip.

“I suppose I’m a little nervous, that’s all.”

Josephine blinked. “About?”

Lia sighed, scrubbing a hand over her face before replying.

“About everything,” she admitted, finally looking back at her with a helpless shrug. “I’m nervous I’m going to mess something up and make things worse than when we started. I’m scared we won’t catch the assassin and Orlais goes up in smoke just like I saw before. I’m honestly _terrified_ because somehow we need to save an Empress, stop a civil war, and save the world and I can’t even figure out a couple of bloody dance steps!”

She’d felt her words growing louder, unable to stop the edge of panic rising in her throat, but the silence that followed felt even louder. Her heart thudded in her chest like a battering ram and the urge to bolt, to run away from the conversation was almost overwhelming.

Almost.

Josephine’s expression, which had turned surprised at the outburst, now softened. Lia found herself unable to speak as the ambassador approached, reaching out to take her hands from where they hung uselessly at her sides. Her grip was firm, but as soft as any lady’s hands should be. When Lia finally looked up, she was faced with the revelation that this close, Josephine was perhaps almost an inch taller than her, forcing her to look up to meet her gaze.

“I confess, I’ve been wondering how anyone could carry the expectations you have without even a _little_ hesitance,” Josephine remarked, and her lips curved into a smile that verged just on this side of teasing as she continued. “Although, perhaps I should have expected as much from such a seasoned confidence trickster.”

A startled laugh got caught in Lia’s throat, and she looked away, smiling despite herself. Josephine’s hands, refined but steady and strong, squeezed gently.

“When I’m anxious, I always find it easier to focus on the next step,” she suggested. “Sometimes the larger picture is somewhat daunting, but if I concentrate on the next step, and then the one after, and so on, I don’t find myself so frightened by it.”

Lia raised an eyebrow, looking back. “Our unflappable ambassador gets nervous? Colour me shocked.”

She laughed – a bright, happy thing that echoed slightly off the stone walls.

“Now you’re being ridiculous.”

“Of course,” Lia replied with a smirk. “And on that note...”

She cleared her throat and stepped back enough to take a bow, glancing up at Josephine with a wink.

“Would the fair lady do me the honour of showing this clumsy-footed oaf how to dance for nothing more than the enjoyment of it?”

Another laugh, even warmer and brighter than the last and, yes, that was almost certainly a darkening blush. Not much to go on, but it was a start.

_One step at a time._


	3. "That's the easy part." (Gen)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt 3: "That's the easy part."  
> Characters/Ship: Lia Lavellan; Iron Bull; Krem; Sera; Rocky; Ana Faber  
> Rating: Gen  
> Warnings: drunken shenanigans; tormenting Cullen

“Shh!”

“Don’t ‘shh’ me, Aclassi. I’m not the one stomping around in big armoured boots.”

“That’s not me, that’s Rocky!”

“How about you all pipe down?” Lia hissed, before glancing over at Bull. “How’re we doing?”

The qunari grinned, one glittering eye on the battlements. “Doing good, boss. Guards should be out of range in three… two… one – go!”

As one, the group moved out of the shadowed alcove behind the stables, pushing, pulling and shoving their contraption with them.

Cullen had said they couldn’t use the trebuchets for their little ‘stunt’. He said nothing about making their own.

Okay, so perhaps ‘trebuchet’ was too grand a label for the haphazard pile of lumber and rope Rocky and Krem had so proudly shown off earlier that evening. It was originally meant for some other nebulous project that the dwarven sapper had been reluctant to discuss and Lia had decided she was better off not knowing about; after a few rounds, however, and at Sera’s reminder, they’d decided on a little revenge at the Commander’s expense.

The set-up had to be quick – Bull had the guard rotas down to a science and while one patrol had just passed on the east battlements, there’d be another on the south in just a few moments. They hurried, stumbling and smothering giggles across the lower courtyard and up, under the archway leading to the training grounds. The Herald’s Rest still had a few patrons this late at night – thankfully Warden Blackwall was among them, distracted by one of Dalish and Skinner’s tall tales, otherwise they’d have been caught straight off. Still, the evening shadows were on their side and they managed to pull the makeshift siege-engine into position with only minimal cursing and thunking of heads.

Krem shot her a grin. “Well, that was the easy part.”

Sera couldn’t stop giggling.

“Wish I could see his face when--” She clapped a hand over her face, blowing a raspberry at the same time.

Lia snorted, ignoring a tiny twinge of guilt. Cullen had been looking a little more harried recently, but a little fun never hurt anyone. And besides, what harm could one little plush nug do?

The thing was pretty damned cute. Maybe she could ask Krem to make one for Josephine? Did she even like nugs? She definitely had at least one stuffed toy in a drawer at her desk, Lia knew that much.

They were in the process of aiming (Krem insisted they aim to the left, Rocky to the right) when Bull’s head perked up from when he was adjusting the pulley mechanism, his eye on the door to the supposedly empty armoury.

“Quiet down!” he rumbled, mere moments before the door swung open and Ana stepped out.

Lia almost groaned out loud. Of _course_ , her sister was still working.

The enchanter was almost a shadow herself, her inky black robes gliding silently against the ground as she walked, head in a report, towards the main steps to the keep. The five of them stayed utterly still (or as still as the drunken can be), only their eyes following as she walked past.

Lia was about to let out a sigh of relief as Ana approached the stone steps still none the wiser – which was of course when Sera let out the greatest belch Lia had ever heard.

Ana’s head shot up, her gaze turning to zero in with an eerie focus on the group. Or maybe Lia was just a little drunker than she’d realised.

“Soz,” Sera muttered sheepishly.

Ana stared at them for a moment, clearly taking in the ‘trebuchet’, the five drunken attempts at playing statues, and in Krem’s hand, the adorable little winged nug. Without a word, she looked between the machine and the only target in its path – the Commander’s tower.

To Lia’s surprise, when Ana turned back, there was a small but definite smile on her face, and an old familiar glint in her eye.

“You’ll want to aim to the left a bit,” she informed them, before turning on her heel and resuming her march up the stairs.

Lia turned to find the other four looking at her. She shrugged.

“You heard her.”

Ana was right, of course. Bull sliced the rope holding the counterweight and the machine swung with a heavy ‘ _badoopmh_ ’, sending the stuffed nug flying through the air in a graceful arc straight towards the tower. The nug sailed down, down, silently dropping out of sight and perfectly through the hole in the Commander’s roof. There was a muffled shout and then--

“ _SERA!_ ”

But they were already sprinting away back towards the tavern, Cullen’s swearing and her sister’s cackling echoing behind them.


	4. "That didn't stop you before." (Orsino/OC)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt 4: "That didn't stop you before."  
> Characters/Ship: Ana Faber; Orsino [Orsino/OC]  
> Rating: Teen  
> Warnings: none

As much as had changed in Orsino’s life in the last few years, sometimes it struck him how much had stayed the same.

He had his students, apprentices of varying ages and talents to guide through the confusing and sometimes difficult task of mastering their natural abilities. He had no shortage of paperwork, reports for Fiona or Ana or the spymaster, requisition forms for the quartermaster, correspondence with his peers beyond Skyhold. There was a mage tower and his office within, and days that rarely went by without some sudden crisis or demand that left him working long into the evening hours.

And yet… there were small but vital differences. No templars watching every move for a reason to strike, no thinly-veiled threats and impossible demands. His students smiled and laughed out loud and slowly forgot what it was to fear repercussions for acting as children do. And while his duty still drove him and he continued to push himself to meet his own exacting standards, there were certainly at least a couple of compelling reasons now to set down his work and enjoy a little of the freedom that had been so hard-won.

So when a light knock at his office door arrived, heralding a note asking him to meet the author at the main gates, Orsino only hesitated for a moment before setting aside his current task and heading out into the brisk afternoon air.

Ana was waiting for him when he arrived. She smiled as he approached, and perhaps it was a silly thing at his age, but the sight still warmed him, a giddy exhilaration that spurred his steps and tugged a smile over his own lips.

“I wondered if you could be tempted away from your desk,” she teased, slipping her hand into his once he was close enough. An old frisson of fear, the urge to look over his shoulder, rose and he gently urged it back with the reminder that no one would, or could, punish them for this. Not any more.

“I confess, curiosity got the better of me,” he replied with a slight smirk. “Your note was altogether _quite_ cryptic.”

She laughed at that, starting to make her way towards the gate. Caught by her hand, Orsino followed along only too willingly.

“Come on then. All will be revealed, I promise.”

They took one of the narrower footpaths that led away from the main bridge leading to Skyhold. Most of the routes around the fortress had been overgrown and lost by time and disuse, but the scouts had cleared a number of them to allow for patrols and deliveries. This one Orsino knew quite well – it led to a rather serene little wooded area not too far from Skyhold that was pleasant to escape to when the sun was warm and the keep a little too loud for his taste.

Ana remained evasive as they walked, forced one after the other by the narrowness of the path. Her sole reply to his queries was a sly look over her shoulder, which only served to pique his interest further.

At last, they neared the clearing. As the trees opened up, Orsino spotted the faded check of a woollen blanket spread out over the ground, near where the branches parted with a stunning view over the mountains. To one side, there was also a basket filled with bread, cheese, fruit, and sundry other bits and pieces, along with one of the nicer red wines from Cabot’s stock.

“Well, that’s familiar,” Orsino managed past the sudden lump in his throat, his voice rough even to his own ears.

It had been nearly an identical sight Ana had led him to one quiet afternoon back at Redcliffe – four years ago to the day, he realised with a start. He’d been free of Kirkwall maybe a month or so, the fear and the strain still heavy on him (on all of them, really), still uncertain that it all wouldn’t be snatched away in a moment. It had been a moment to breathe, to reflect and finally talk about the unnamed thing growing between them, about kisses stolen while the Gallows burned around them and hushed confessions in the darkness of a ship bound for Ferelden, fleeing with his fellow mages.

It had been the first time they’d made love. At the time, he’d been astonished at his own daring.

“I wasn’t sure about calling it an anniversary, given how long we had to spend apart,” Ana explained, her smile soft and a little wistful when Orsino turned to look at her. “But it didn’t feel right to let it go unnoticed. Besides, given everything, it’s been a little while since it was just us.”

Orsino nodded, still not entirely trusting his own voice as he briefly tightened his grip on Ana’s hand, still nestled in his own. He had no regrets about how things had developed with Alexius – despite their rough beginnings and as different as their dynamic was, he was no less fond of him than he was of the woman in front of him. Alexius was a determined, intelligent, passionate man and while there were shadows and pitfalls all three of them had to navigate, he was glad to have him as a companion, a friend, and a lover. But while he didn’t doubt Ana felt likewise, there was something in him that had been craving a moment between just the two of them. And apparently, she had felt likewise.

His heart thudded heavily in his chest. For once unable to trust words to serve him, he allowed his actions to speak for him, leaning in and catching her smiling lips in a kiss.

In her heeled boots, they were almost equal height, Ana’s chin only tilting up a little to meet him as he let his free hand come up, cradling her jaw. She sighed, soft and heady against his mouth and he pressed in, suddenly ravenous as he nipped at her lower lip. The taste of spiced tea on her tongue, the sweet scent of the soap she used, even the heat of her hand in his, her throat against his palm, contrasting with the occasional breeze of autumn air, sent him spinning for a moment and he could have almost forgotten they were, in fact, not so far away from the keep.

With great reluctance, Orsino pulled back, his lips almost feeling bruised in the cold air and needing a minute with his forehead braced against Ana’s before he could will himself to open his eyes.

The grin on her face and the light in her shifting grey-blue eyes were more than worth it. As was the far too tempting challenge in them.

He tried to muster up a frown, something that might have had an errant apprentice stop in their tracks.

“It’s hardly appropriate,” he insisted, even as Ana’s smirk grew. “Someone could come looking.”

“That didn’t stop you before,” came the reply, a taunt and an invitation in one.

“True enough,” he admitted with a smile of his own, resolve swaying.

_What was freedom without a little risk?_

With barely a thought, he let go of Ana’s hand only to gesture towards the pathway, the glow of an enchantment glimmering through the air. It was a minor compulsion, meant only to discourage any on-comer from approaching, but better than nothing, he supposed.

Ana’s laugh was quickly smothered as he dove in for another kiss, and another, and another… 

The sky was darkening by the time they reappeared through the arch of the main gate, arm in arm and the empty basket swinging gently in Orsino’s grip. And if anyone noticed that either of the pair were perhaps a little more tousled, a little less well-presented, and giggling and blushing like a pair of teenagers rather than grown men and women, well… Orsino was happy to let them speculate.

He had nothing to hide. Not any more.


	5. "I missed this." (Gen)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt 5: "I missed this."  
> Characters/Ship: Dorian Pavus; Gereon Alexius  
> Rating: Gen  
> Warnings: angst

As cells went, Dorian had to admit, it was certainly comfortable. Plush chairs (two of them!) to pair with the heavy wooden desk, tall bookshelves stacked with a number of tomes that he would bet good coin never saw the light of the main library (or the approval of Commander Cullen) and best of all, thick woollen curtains and a well-stocked brazier. It seemed good behaviour and useful results counted for something.

Gaining the favour the Inquisitor’s sister probably helped too, although Dorian was careful to keep his concerns on that matter to himself.

They’d been sat for several hours now, exchanging scathing notes on some new research Dorian had managed to get sent down from home. The familiar back and forth, paired with an actually half-decent wine he’d managed to sneak out of the kitchens, was almost enough to make him forget the cold draughty castle and the miles and years stretching out between now and the last time they spoken like this. Before… well, _before_.

He held back a frown – clearly, the wine was making him maudlin and that would _never_ do – and turned his attention back to Alexius’ latest critique.

“–and his theories about energy degradation are almost plausible, right up until he starts insisting on that nonsense about harmonics!”

“Well, remember Severinus used to swear by harmonics,” Dorian noted, taking another sip of his wine, “and look where that got her. Funny how there was always someone willing to fund research in that particular fool’s errand.”

Alexius hummed in agreement, leaning back in his chair with a contemplative look.

“It is, perhaps, one of the very few saving graces of how the southern Circles operated,” he said with a wry smile. “Research focused on necessity, rather than mere curiosity – it leaves little room to fritter away precious resources and time on half-baked theories.”

“But no room for real exploration or discovery – at least not without a troop of templars breathing down your neck,” Dorian reminded him.

“Of course. I did say ‘perhaps’.”

It was Dorian’s turn to hum in reply, unsure exactly how to respond. To say it was a surprise to hear his former mentor speaking favourably, however faintly, of the Circles of the south was an understatement. Then again, it wasn’t the only change he’d noted in Alexius over the last few months. The fact he was here was proof enough of that.

There were still pitfalls, of course, topics neither of them brought up; perhaps out of some desire to maintain the fragile peace. Words he kept hidden behind carefully careless smiles and sharpened wit. Words like _I’m sorry_ , and _thank you_ , and _I missed this_.

“Dorian?”

He glanced up, suddenly aware he’d been quiet for a moment too long and finding Alexius watching him with a look halfway between curiosity and, Maker forbid, _concern_.

Shaking off his melancholy train of thought, Dorian forced a cavalier expression to his face, lip curling slightly.

“Hmm? Oh sorry, I was just starting worry if you’ve gone native,” he teased. “You stay much longer in the south and you’ll be unrecognisable back home.”

He’d meant it lightly – Maker knew if Alexius even could go back home, after all this – but the frown on Alexius’ face still sent a jolt of discomfort through him.

“No,” he said after a long moment. “I probably wouldn’t be.”

There was no anger or insult colouring his words – Dorian was familiar enough with both of those – but there was a heavy tone that brought to mind that first bleak visit, back when Alexius’ cell was exactly that, a bare room with bars and guards and shackles. The man he’d spoken to then hadn’t been Alexius, hadn’t been anything but the shell of a man with empty eyes and an emptier voice. He hadn’t liked seeing him like that, and quite frankly never wanted to hear that vacant tone again.

“Would you go back? Once this is over, I mean,” he asked, internally kicking himself because _they didn’t talk about this_.

That got him a humourless chuckle and a look that was hard around the edges.

“‘Once this is over’? Dorian, I never took you for an optimist.”

_And I never took you for a fatalist_ , he thought but managed not to say. 

Out loud, he replied, “Of course not. But while I can’t say I agree with our illustrious Inquisitor about everything, I can’t deny she gets results one way or another. Like a perky, stabby little battering ram, really.”

“She’s one woman, and the Elder– Corypheus is beyond that, beyond anything the Inquisition can…” Alexius trailed off, gaze lost in the glowing reflection of the brazier and suddenly looking far more tired than he seemed a moment ago. “What chance does she have, truly?”

It struck Dorian then that the question didn’t seem new to Alexius – like it was a thought that came back to him more than once, and he still hadn’t found a satisfactory answer to it.

Neither had Dorian, really.

“Honestly? I don’t know,” he admitted, biting the inside of his cheek as he fought the urge to cling to the easy mask a little longer. He shook it off and turned back to Alexius, looking him straight in the eye.

“I don’t know,” he repeated, “but what I do know is this is a fight worth winning, and there are people here – good people – who will do whatever they have to to make that happen. Being ready to do the same is the least I can offer.”

Dorian ignored Alexius’ surprised stare, downing the dregs of his cup and setting it on the desk. Standing, he took a breath, already knowing what he needed to say – for his own peace of mind if nothing else – but wishing he didn’t.

“Maybe this is a hopeless cause,” he admitted, giving voice to the nagging fear he’d carried in the back of his mind since Haven. “In fact, it probably is. But I walked away from one of those once and I’ve regretted it ever since. I won’t do it again.”

And with that, Dorian bid a hasty farewell and left, unable to linger and witness whatever impact his words had on his one-time friend. Cowardly, really, but he only had so much courage for one evening. And try as he might, he had the sinking feeling he’d need it again before all this was over.


	6. "You did this?" (Gen)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt 6: "You did this?"  
> Characters/Ship: Lia Lavellan; Ana Faber  
> Rating: Gen  
> Warnings: None

Lia’s boots clicked against the stone as she strode towards the stairs leading down to Skyhold’s gardens. She’d tried going barefoot like many others in the clan, but could never keep to it – and given how cold it could be here in the Frostbacks, she was rather glad she’d never fallen into the habit.

Where the Creators was her sister hiding this time?

She’d checked the usual haunts – the mage tower, the library, the war room and the training grounds. Asking Solas and Varric had been nigh on useless, given they both claimed not to have seen her all morning, and the Herald’s Rest had been a bust too. She’d even gone so far as to check Cullen’s office, unlikely as it was, but at least he’d been able to make a suggestion.

“You could try the gardens,” he’d offered. Lia’s face had clearly shown her confusion because the Commander had gone on.

“Back at the Circle, Ana would be the first to volunteer to help in the gardens, even after she made Enchanter.” He gave an awkward shrug. “It might have simply been an excuse to get outside, but I always got the impression she actually enjoyed it – though that was some time ago and I may be misremembering.”

It was more than anyone else had provided, so she thanked him and set off. As she walked, she tried to picture her prim and proper sister elbow-deep in mud and weeds, her face scrunching up as the image just wouldn’t come. Sure, Ana used to love helping their mother with her tiny allotment back in Tevinter, while Lia had been less than enthusiastic. But they were kids back then, and half the time it was simply another opportunity to play and make a nuisance of themselves. Honestly, Lia had all but forgotten about it.

Lia skipped the stairs two at a time, gaze sweeping the garden as she reached ground level.

The garden was reasonably quiet, only a few others dawdling around, reading or enjoying the shade. Ana was crouched next to a plot in the herb garden, red hair tied back in a thick braid rather than it’s usual pristine bun, and wearing an old set of robes that had definitely seen better days. It was the most casual she’d seen her sister since… well, a _long_ time ago, at least, and truth be told, Lia almost didn’t recognise her.

Kneeling in the dirt in raggedy robes with a smudge of mud on her chin, she almost looked… peaceful.

Lia suddenly didn’t want to disturb her, half-convincing herself to turn back and head off to the tavern to catch up with her sister later. Which of course meant Runa, who up until then had been lying in a mabari-shaped heap across the grass, chose that very moment to look up and spot Lia in the alcove. She gave a deep, echoing huff, which Ana obviously recognised and understood because she glanced over. On seeing Lia herself, she smiled, waving her over.

_Bloody dog_.

She picked her way over, pausing to give Runa an obligatory scratch behind the ears (received with an appreciative rumble before the mutt returned to her morning sprawl).

“Looking better, isn’t it?” Ana asked by way of greeting, standing up and wiping off her hands using a rag tucked into her belt. “This patch was so overgrown when we first got here, it’s good to see it finally put to use.”

“You did this?” Lia gestured to the plot.

Better was probably an understatement. Lia had vague memories of most of the garden being taken over by long grass and dying weeds when they’d first arrived. Most of the worst of it had been cut back in the first few weeks to allow them access to the well, but building the herb garden had been a much longer project. The section Ana had been working on was one of the last to get organised, but it looked almost done. Several trellises had been installed along the walls to give support to various vines and hanging plants, while tidy clusters of clay pots had been added for other herbs that needed better soil than the coarse stone and dirt that covered the rest of the ground in the garden.

“Oh no, most of this was Elan and her people. I’ve been helping out whenever we’ve been back, but the crystal grace especially needs more regular attention than I can give it,” Ana replied, going into a quick run-down of what they had.

Lia only caught half of it, shaking her head a little as Ana finished.

“I didn’t realise you were into this stuff,” she admitted. “Last time I remember you gardening, you were getting told off for making mud-pies on top of Mum’s vegetables.”

Ana hummed, smiling slightly. “Didn’t you dig up all her onions one year?”

“Maker, she was spitting,” Lia said, snorting at the memory before her grin faded. “That was the spring before you got your magic.”

“It was.” Ana’s voice turned soft, almost sad.

What was it she’d said back in Haven – that she wished she’d never had magic? Lia hadn’t believed her at the time, and even now she didn’t think Ana really meant it. But maybe it was never the magic that was the problem.

Maybe it was everything it cost.

Lia turned to say… _something_ , although she wasn’t quite sure what. But it appeared she’d been thinking too long and Ana was already slipping off the dirty old robes, revealing the usual (and impeccable) dark shirt and breeches underneath. And like that, the moment had gone.

“So, I’m assuming you didn’t just wander down to the gardens for a social visit?” Ana asked as she rolled down her sleeves, buttoning them back into place.

Lia nodded after a moment. “Yeah – I mean, no, err – Dagna’s got some schematics. Weird ones, from some rare goods dealer in Kirkwall. Figured you might want to see what we can make use of.”

Ana’s eyes lit up, the same way they usually did when she was presented with some weird esoteric thingmabob, and it was as fast as she could usher Lia out the garden and towards the undercroft.

“What are you smirking at?” Ana demanded as they walked – marched, really.

Lia shook her head, still smiling. “Nothing.”

Her sister gave her a sceptical look, but didn’t press the matter – likely preoccupied with the promise of fancy new gear. Still, Lia didn’t doubt she’d find out soon enough.

She still had mud on her chin.


	7. "Yes I did, what about it?" (Iron Bull/Dorian)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt 7: "Yes I did, what about it?"  
> Characters/Ship: Iron Bull; Dorian Pavus. [Iron Bull/Dorian, pre-romance]  
> Rating: Gen  
> Warnings: use of alcohol as an emotional crutch; mild angst

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Set after ‘Last Resort of Good Men’ and before ‘Demands of the Qun’. Sort-of follow on to Day 5’s fic. Bull’s nickname for Ana is ‘Buttons’; Lia is ‘Boss’ as in canon.

“Heard you took the Boss along to meet with your dad.”

A haughty sniff. “Yes I did, what about it?”

“Seems like it didn’t go too great. You good?”

The Iron Bull expected the question to earn him an eye roll and a half-hearted sneer, as any attempt to engage Dorian in personal conversation beyond barbs and complaints usually went. The ‘Vint didn’t disappoint, though Bull didn’t miss how quickly the curled lip dropped as he took another swig of his cup.

“Me? Absolutely fine. Just peachy, really, what with the cold and the terrible ale and no one around to peel grapes for me,” he sighed in that overblown bratty way he did when he didn’t want to admit to the real problem. His eyes glittered as he caught Bull’s eye across the tavern table, the firelight glowing back at him. “Don’t tell me you’re concerned about the _evil ‘Vint_?”

Bull shrugged, keeping eye contact (always a little harder with only the one).

“Figured I’d ask before you spent the rest of the night glaring at your drink again, but hey, be my guest,” Bull replied with a dismissive wave, making to stand as he added, “I’m sure Varric’s got a game goi–”

“Oh, sit down already.” Dorian’s scowl is priceless, just the right mix of disgruntled and affronted at himself for caring. “Even in my cups, I’m still far better conversation than almost everyone else here.”

“ _Almost_ everyone?” he prodded, grinning as he settled back against the bench.

Dorian sniffed, but didn’t rise to the bait.

The Herald’s Rest was quiet this time of night, most folk having settled in for the evening. Normally Bull would have turned in himself (with or without company), but then the ‘Vint had stormed in, ordered a flagon of the cheapest and strongest thing Cabot had in his stocks and then thrown himself into one of the chairs by the fire to glower and drink. Much like he had done every night for the last week.

Something was gnawing at him and Bull… well, Bull never did like leaving a problem lie.

So here he was, slowly sipping at his own drink while Dorian downed two more before he finally seemed ready to talk about it – whatever _it_ was.

“Tell me, Bull, from a professional standpoint – how do you make our chances?”

Bull’s eyebrows rose, but he kept his smile easy.

“Why, you trying to fix that bet you’ve got going with Varric?”

Dorian gave an undignified snort, but shook his head – well, lolled it vaguely from side to side, more accurately.

“Hardly. Just… do you think she can do it? Or is this all,” he waved a hand, gesturing vaguely around them, “just an exercise in futility?”

Bull considered the question, mulling it over as he took another drink.

“It depends,” he answered finally. At Dorian’s incredulous look, he continued. “The odds aren’t great. That darkspawn magister bastard’s got a lot of stuff we don’t – people, resources, real _creepy-ass_ _magic_ – and we still don’t know his whole plan yet beyond raising demon armies and assassinating Empress Celene.”

“Doesn’t sound promising, does it?” Dorian mused, slouching a little further down his chair.

Bull hummed in agreement. “But a fight, especially a long one, isn’t just about how many tools or men or secrets you’ve got. It’s about how you think about it, how your people think. You go into a fight expecting to lose, nine times out of ten, that’s what’ll happen. But you go in thinking you can win – that can change things.”

Dorian was staring at him, expression somewhere between nonplussed and disbelief.

“Don’t tell me the Qunari extol the virtues of ‘positive thinking’ in a battle situation?”

There was something so childishly gleeful in Dorian’s face, Bull couldn’t help a low, rumbling chuckle.

“It’s a bit more complicated–”

“Oh, _of course_.”

“–but yeah, something like that. It’s why new soldiers get sent on missions that look tough but are really pretty easy,” he explained. “You gotta give them a reason to think they can win, just as much as you need to train and equip them.”

“You know, that _almost_ makes sense,” Dorian replied after a moment, mouth and moustache quirking in a lop-sided smile that looked a hundred times more authentic than the polished smirk he usually wore.

If Bull were feeling particularly sentimental, he’d even say it suited him. But that was a big ‘if’.

“I was talking to Alexius,” Dorian admitted, quietly, snapping Bull out of his thoughts. “Most of the time, he almost sounds like his old self, and then others…” Dorian shook his head. “He really doesn’t think there’s a chance. And my father, well – he seems to think I’m throwing my life away just to spite him. Maybe I am.”

Bull frowned at the mention of the former magister. He’d agreed with the Boss’ decision to have him do research for the Inquisition – the guy knew more about whatever weird magic shit Corypheus was messing with than anyone else, and reports from back in Par Vollen suggested it was worthwhile seeing what they could get out of him. And it didn’t take much of his training to see a man doing terrible things for desperate reasons, even if he couldn’t get behind Dorian and Buttons’ insistence on giving him more chances. Still, it wasn’t his choice to make and he was happy to stay out of it.

But whatever Alexius had said, along which whatever shit had gone down with his family, was clearly tying Dorian up in knots and Bull wanted to figure it out.

He didn’t think too carefully on the why.

“So what do you think?” he prompted after the altus had fallen quiet.

Dorian stared into the fire for a long moment, long enough that Bull wasn’t sure he was going to answer him.

“I think,” he said at last, “that it could go either way. And I think that while I’m terrified of a world were Corypheus wins – having seen the state of that world – oddly enough, I’m more scared of a world where _we_ win. Or maybe just scared of hoping for it. Hope is… dangerous.”

Bull nodded, but didn’t answer. Maybe because there was something in Dorian’s tone; something hidden in between the words that resonated a little too clearly – _shok ebasit hissra,_ _maraas shokra_. Sometimes, it was easier to say nothing and put those thoughts in a box to deal with later than confront them in an empty tavern by firelight with someone who should be an enemy but wasn’t.

He lost track of how long he sat watching the glow of the fire flicker and glint off of the rings on Dorian’s fingers. Too long, Hissrad would have said, but the Iron Bull barely thought about it.

When the cup went loose in Dorian’s grip, paired with the faint snoring, Bull figured that was as much as he was going to get out of him for one night. The altus barely stirred, only mumbling slightly under his breath as Bull scooped him up, carrying him back to the keep where he could leave Dorian to sleep off the ale in an actual bed, before heading back to his own. There were still reports to write, after all, and besides – he had a suspicion he wouldn’t be sleeping for a while just yet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translation:  
> shok ebasit hissra, maraas shokra - struggle is an illusion, there is nothing to struggle against.


	8. "All I ever wanted." (Alexius/OC)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt 8: "All I ever wanted"  
> Characters/Ship: Gereon Alexius; Ana Faber [Alexius/OC]  
> Rating: Gen  
> Warnings: angst

He couldn’t sleep.

There were those he knew would consider it a well-deserved punishment, to think him kept awake by his guilty conscience. The bitter truth was that he had much to be guilty for. Sadly, attempting to trick a pack of desperate southern mages into service to a monster who would be a god, and then trying to eradicate the so-called Herald of Andraste, sat quite low on the list.

It was late, the fire in the wood burner barely glowing and a thin tendril of moonlight peering through the drapes. The pale beam cut through the room, up the heavy woollen bed-covers and over the bare expanse of Ana’s back, pulling the delicate lines of ink under her skin into stark relief. The bed on her other side was empty – Orsino had been kept late with discussions with the Grand Enchanter and had retired to his own room for the evening.

Alexius lay on his side, eyes tracing the web of arcane symbols and glyphs etched into his lover’s skin. It was a stunningly complex thing, an intricate web of defensive and protective magic designed to take any injury aimed at the area and turn the effect back on the attacker. Ana had done it herself, apparently – hardly a surprise when such magic was rarely practised outside of the Imperium and Rivain – using an array of mirrors and needing several days to finish. The effort had seemed almost excessive when considering how limited the effect was; at least, until he’d noticed the marks beneath the tattoo.

Five lines, scores of silver across her back. A punishment wielded by a southern Templar’s hand.

She’d told him once that her father bore similar marks, and in far greater number; a souvenir of a childhood spent in slavery. The conversation had troubled him, prodded at an old sense of unease that he’d learned to bury with time and the pressure of societal expectation. The stark lines of where his homeland marked worthiness, who thrived and who survived, seemed all the clearer to him after these long months in the south.

_What am I doing here?_

The question had come back to him, time and again. First, sparingly, after he’d arrived in Ferelden and set his former master’s plan in motion – occasional flashes of grief and horror at the mess of his own making that he pushed back down with the reminder of the cost if he failed. Again, after his capture – long after, because in those first dark weeks he wasn’t sure he remembered thinking anything beyond a wish for an end – after being dragged out of his cell and up the snowy mountainside by the imperious elf at his side while Haven burned. And again, when his cell was swapped for a research station, his chains for guards and escorts, dark looks and tense words for curiosity, intelligence, and small acts of kindness that had been as unnerving as they were unexpected. Little moments, like lamps lighting a dark and lonely path, guiding him out of the shadows; so unlooked for he hadn’t realised how much he’d come to crave them until Orsino confronted him about his ‘infatuation’ with his lover.

It should have ended there. The woman at his side was no fool, and despite her kindness and a surprising propensity to forgive an old man’s folly, Alexius had no reason to believe her regard for him had changed since Redcliffe. He had, as it turned out, been wrong – as he had been wrong about the First Enchanter too. Orsino, it turned out, was well-acquainted with making desperate decisions in desperate times, even if he had initially been cagier about revealing his own interests.

Which led Alexius back to the present, lying in the bed of a woman who carried all the steel and wit and fire that had drawn him to Livia so many years ago, and who had exhibited care and wisdom that few managed even if they lived to more than twice her age. And he was wondering what had possessed him to go along with this.

He wasn’t fool enough to think there was a happy ending to any of this. Despite the Inquisition’s admittedly remarkable strides since Haven, Alexius couldn’t bring himself to try and picture their victory against the Elder One.

_Corypheus,_ he corrected to himself. He had no loyalty to the self-acclaimed god any more, no need to defer even in the privacy of his own mind.

But if the situation was so hopeless, why let himself be drawn into another entanglement? He could almost convince himself it was simple loneliness, the years of Livia’s absence and the weight of his own conscience and grief making him weak to the warmth being offered, a balm to numb an ache too deep to heal. He could even tell himself, if he were feeling mercenary, that it was nothing more than the desire to feel something, a pleasant diversion from his current circumstances and the doom looming ahead. He could…

Alexius huffed quietly to himself. He and denial had never been good bedfellows.

He sighed, reaching out a hand towards the woman beside him. His fingers hovered for a moment over the moonlit skin, the silver stripes clear under the ink, before gently tracing the marks, the faint shimmer of his own magic bleeding through the air. In her sleep, Ana murmured, turning her head slightly and from this angle, he could almost guess she were smiling.

Alexius kept his hand steady as he followed the ink, adding to the power in the marks.

_All I ever wanted was to do good – by my father, by my country, by my wife, by my son. I’ve failed each of them. I want to do good by you, and that terrifies me._

Because that was the crux of it, wasn’t it? If this wasn’t a distraction or a diversion, some attempt to blind himself to his current circumstances, then what was it? Two sets of hands had reached out and he’d taken them because despite hating what his life had become, despite wanting to hate them, despite hating the idea of ever having something he treasured again in case it was taken from him… he wanted this. He wanted her, despite the risks. He wanted Orsino, despite the wariness and occasional stumbles. He wanted them both, and he wanted… he wanted to hope for a better end than the one he’d prepared himself for.

And he couldn’t bear to try, because he couldn’t bear to hope and then lose again.

So he laid there for what felt like hours, slowly pushing magic into the glyphs, adding his strength to hers. He could not be by her side when she was called out to fight by the Inquisitor’s side, so he added what protection he could. And despite himself, he hoped it would be enough.


	9. "Give me that!" (Gen)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt 9: "Give me that!"  
> Characters/Ship: Runa the mabari; Cullen Rutherford  
> Rating: Gen  
> Warnings: mentions of lyrium withdrawal

“Give me that!”

The Seeker’s tone brooked no argument, so she did as she was told, letting the now-slightly damp and bitten book drop from her jaws. She had found it tucked under the chair the Altus usually reclined in most evenings, and could smell the Seeker’s soft perfume and sword oil in the pages.

The Seeker darted forward to grab the book, cheeks red and eyes wide as she turned the book over in her hand.

“I’ve been looking for–” she stopped, eyeing Runa with narrowed eyes and, thankfully, the hint of a smile. “I have no idea where you found this, but, thank you.”

Runa offered a happy bark and trotted away.

Skyhold was a myriad of interesting smells and sounds, and her Mistress let her roam with freedom – a sign of her trust in her. She repaid it by not going to places that would cause Trouble (the Cook still did not like her much, and neither did the Blacksmith after the time she’d buried his hammer for being too loud). Instead, she spent her free hours looking after the people who were now part of their pack.

The Warden was near the barn, chopping wood and talking with the Horsemaster. Even away from Skyhold, the scent of hay from the loft never quite left him. Sometimes, Runa sat with him as he carved shapes into scraps of wood and murmured stories she did not understand. In those quiet times, his voice was sad and tired, but it rose now, a laugh in the words as the Horsemaster offered a reply. Content all was well, she left.

She returned to the hall to find the Writer at his chair, the Hawk on the other. The Writer’s hands smelled of ink and paper on the rare occasions he stopped to scratch behind her ears, while the Hawk smelled of far-off places and the mabari currently draped over his feet. Reaver’s head bobbed up as she neared, huffing quietly until she passed by.

The rotunda she skirted, only pausing to watch as the Mage perched atop a ladder, delicate brush sweeping colour over the walls. Her Mistress liked the Mage, but Runa did not. He smelled of things forgotten and shadows she chased in nightmares.

The Altus and the Magister were next. Their voices were hushed in the alcove near the fireplace. She paused, watching the tense line of the Altus’ mouth and the sombre dip of the Magister’s head. A conflict, but not one that would move the violence, so there was no need to intervene. She would come back later to see if she could tease a treat from the Altus’ kohl-and-smoke-scented pockets (however much he pretended he didn’t carry any) or tuck herself in by the Magister’s knee, head in his lap while he worked. He was like the Warden at times, quiet and sometimes speaking to her in soft, sad tones, although he smelled more of ink and incense than hay, overlaid with the scent of the gardens and spiced tea – the smell of her Mistress.

The Enchanter smelled of her mistress too, along with charcoal and lightning. He was in the mage tower now, surrounded by young pups, and Runa knew better than to disturb a lesson. The Enchanter was often soft-spoken, but his anger could be sharp and sudden.

She only sometimes visited the Nightingale, and never in the rookery – the ravens screeched whenever they caught sight of her and the noise hurt her ears. She smelled of steel and flowers, and the scent confused her. On the landing, Runa paused, glancing towards the Lady as she went. The Lady had a cat, a prissy perfumed thing and its smell was all over the balcony and the Lady too, making her nose twitch. It had swiped at her once, and she’d left it – and the Lady – be since then.

Downstairs, the Ambassador was missing from her desk, a scent trail of spice and silk leading to the heavy doors of the War Room. She could hear voices – her Mistress and the Herald and the Ambassador. Her Mistress told her the War Room was Important, so Runa did not scratch her claws against the wood and whine, although she might have wanted to. Instead, she trotted back the way she came, back out of the great hall and down the steps towards the tavern.

The tavern was full and loud, the smell of ale and sweat as bold as the noise. The Bull’s scent was still detectable, though – leather, and the strange unfamiliar sweetness of some kind of balm not from her home. He sat with his pack, and the table was loud and joyous, so Runa moved on, unneeded here either.

The Jenny’s room was always fascinating, stray bits of food tucked into gaps in the floorboards and shining objects that caught her eye. Still, she remembered the last time she’d been there and tried to chase a small, scurrying rodent she’d spotted rummaging under a blanket. The Jenny had screeched and thrown things until she’d chased Runa out of the room.

Not today, then.

And then there was the Boy. Runa hesitated as she took the stairs, always uneasy with him. He didn’t smell… of anything, really. Most of the time. Sometimes, she would catch a sniff of something solid – sweat, warm cotton, bread – and then it would be gone. If not for her eyes and ears, she’d almost think him not there are all.

But he was quiet and spoke softly and knew when the spot behind her ears itched.

He smiled as he saw her, crouching down as she approached, letting her sniff at his hands. Cheese, today. She rumbled happily as gentle fingers scratched around the short fur behind her head.

“It’s okay. I know you want to help,” the Boy murmured.

Runa whined softly. She did want to help, but everyone was busy!

“Come on. I know someone you can help today.”

The fingers departed as the Boy moved, walking towards the door that led back onto the battlements. Runa followed, curious. He led her through an empty room, out another door into the open sky – windy and cool, carrying the scent of the mountains and the world beyond on the air, and she felt like running.

“This way,” the Boy called, and she turned along, following him.

More doors, more empty rooms, before the Boy stopped at a final door.

Runa sniffed. She knew this place – it belonged to the Knight. Her Mistress did not like the Knight.

She sat back on her haunches, whining quietly as she looked between the Boy and the door.

The Boy’s lips moved quickly in a hurried murmur. “Today is worse than most days. Sleep won’t come and when it does it hurts, aching, breaking, I won’t break I _won’t_. Hiding in the dark, but it doesn’t help. The pain is lonely, but he doesn’t want them to see. But you can see – you can _help_.”

The Boy turned the door handle slowly, enough to let it sit off of the latch while not leaning open. And then he walked away.

Runa hesitated. The air seeping out of the door was warm and stale, the scent of sweat mingling with the sharp smell of medicines and a deeper, metallic note that only followed some of the soldiers and not the others. Her Mistress did not like the Knight. But her Mistress would help because the Knight was pack; so Runa should help too.

She nosed the door, applying pressure until it gave, easing through the gap until she stood in the darkened office.

The Knight was sat at the desk, head in his hands. His breathing came in hisses of air drawn between teeth, and he was curled over, pulled tight in pain. He did not appear to have noticed her.

Slowly, she padded over, sniffing as she came around the desk, her snout bumping against an armoured knee. The Knight jumped slightly, a curse under his breath as he blinked down at her, brows pulled down. He looked angry, and Runa whined.

“Oh, it’s…” the Knight huffed, scrubbing a hand over his face. There were deep shadows under his eyes and his face looked drawn and pale – sickly, even. She stepped closer, butting her head against his leg and he gave a quiet huff, his face relaxing into something less forbidding. “It’s all right. You’re not in trouble. You just gave me a fright. Does Enchanter Ana know you’re wandering around?”

She sat back, cocking her head to one side as she looked at him. When he didn’t move except to lean back a little in his chair, she moved forward again, nudging her head against the hand now loose against his side.

Another huff.

“Oh, I see. You’re being ignored and think I’ll be a soft touch, is that it?” he said, voice low and almost sounding amused.

Runa gave a soft rumble, and to prove her point, pressed forward to lay her head in the Knight’s lap and looking up at him with wide eyes.

That got a chuckle – harsh and dry-sounding, but a laugh and his mouth curled in a tired smile.

“Spoiled dog,” he muttered, but there was no venom in it, and as he spoke, the hand at his side moved up to rest against the back of Runa’s head, fingers flexing and scratching gently through her fur from her neck down to between her shoulders.

She made a soft, happy noise, leaning fully against the Knight’s leg.

They sat like that for some time as the afternoon sun started to fade and the Knight’s hand stayed warm and heavy against her head. He talked quietly for a time, before falling quiet, head propped in his other hand and eyes closed, his breathing slowing until it became deep and even with sleep. Runa stayed, even as he jolted awake later, mumbling and fidgeting in his sleep before his eyes opened wide and frightened. Then she would huff and nudge his hand and he would calm, breathing slowing as he stroked her fur.

It was almost dark by the time the Knight sat up, rubbing his eyes. Runa moved back, letting him stand.

“Should probably get you back to your mistress,” the Knight said with a wan smile. “Doubtless she’ll be starting to worry where you’ve gone to.”

Runa gave a soft bark of agreement. There was dinner to consider too.

The Knight smiled again, making his way towards the door. As he reached it, he paused, before turning back and giving Runa a fond – and much appreciated – scratch just behind her ears.

“Thank you for the company today,” he murmured. “It helped more than you know.”

She wriggled happily at the praise, earning a few more scritches and a quiet laugh.

“All right, go on then.”

The door opened and she bounded out, bolting halfway down the battlements towards the keep before running back to where the Knight stood at the door. He gave her a slightly exasperated look when she stopped and sat back, watching him expectantly.

“Is this a hint I should be following?”

She barked.

The Knight sighed, before shaking his head, pulling the office door closed behind him.

“Fine, fine – I suppose dinner wouldn’t hurt.”

Runa barked again – silly man, dinner _never_ hurt – and then took off after him, slowing to trot along at his side. And together, man and dog made their way back to the keep.


	10. "Are you kidding me?" (Gen)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt 10: "Are you kidding me?"  
> Characters/Ship: Warden Blackwall  
> Rating: Gen  
> Warnings: none

“This seems a tad over-excessive, don’t you think?” Blackwall remarked, eyeing the rest of the assorted group, perched around the small platform above the armoury.

Vivienne arched an elegant brow. “You _do_ remember what happened during Satinalia, yes?”

_Oh._ _That._

He snorted at the memory, shaking his head as Lady Josephine groaned.

“Yes, yes, I think we _all_ remember that.”

“So, what’s the plan?” Bull piped up from his bench near the window, eyeing the courtyard outside. “‘Cause if this takes much longer, she’s gonna figure something’s up.”

Blackwall was inclined to agree. The Inquisitor was as intuitive as she was resourceful and while both qualities were usually a blessing, in this particular instance, they were nothing short of a curse. In an attempt to compensate for Lia’s remarkable tendency to find out any and all manner of things, no matter how well-hidden or discreet, Josephine had recruited the majority of the Inquisitor’s inner circle – with one notable exception. Which was a bloody pain, because Ana’s uncanny ability to predict her sister’s next move would be bloody helpful right now.

He was pretty sure trying to plan a birthday celebration was meant to go a lot smoother than this. Even if it was for twins.

Leliana had already been in contact with Clan Lavellan, who were sending gifts via Varric’s network of merchants to avoid detection. Josephine had wrangled the rest of them into helping her with preparations – Vivienne with the guest list, Dorian with entertainment, and Solas, surprisingly, with selecting the menu. Cassandra and Cullen were working on making sure security was in top shape and Bull was tasked with taking the sisters out with the Chargers prior to the event (there may or may not have been the promise of a dragon hunt involved). After some discussion, it had been agreed that keeping Sera away from the preparations was probably in everyone’s interests and Blackwall and Varric had volunteered to take turns in keeping her distracted – by silent agreement, it kept them both from getting pulled into any dramatics when things inevitably went messy. As for Cole… well, he was ‘helping’, although no one really knew how or when and honestly, they were all a bit too nervous to ask.

Right now, First Enchanter Orsino had managed to rope Ana into some research problem that had thankfully kept her occupied for the better part of the week, and both Lia and Sera were over in the keep while Varric and Hawke told old stories. So they had a few minutes to check on their plans and try and soothe the harried Ambassador’s nerves.

“–and the patisserie has the full order?”

“Of course. And I requested the extra macarons–”

“–in lemon?”

“Yes.”

“Very well, thank you, Solas. Madame Vivienne, has–”

“I received his response this morning. The Duke will of course be delighted to attend.”

“Wonderful, I was so hoping he would. Leliana, have we heard back from–”

Blackwall leaned back against the pillar by the stairs. He didn’t really need to be here, but there was something almost heart-warming about seeing their little ragtag group all rallying together. Besides, he figured the Inquisitor – and her sister – had earned a pleasant surprise for once.

Watching as Josephine continued to pepper the rest of them with questions, he almost didn’t hear it.

A soft creak, like weight shifting on wood.

He stood still for a moment, thinking it might be the pillar – _Maker knew when this thing_ _was_ _put_ _up_ – but as he listened, it came again. And something else.

Very quiet, almost imperceptible. The sound of someone trying not to giggle.

He locked eyes with the Bull, who seemed to have noticed at the same time he did.

“Shit,” the qunari muttered as he rose, cutting Josephine off in her tracks while Blackwall quickly spun and made his way for the stairs.

He was halfway down when he spotted them – Sera and Lia both squashed together, listening by a crack in the open door, just as the other door at the far end of the armoury burst open to reveal Varric. The pair shrieked and bolted off, slamming the door behind them.

“ _Are you kidding me?_ ” the dwarf demanded, a little breathless from his jog across the courtyard. He looked over at Blackwall. “I took my eyes off them for two seconds, I swear.”

“Well,” Bull grumbled from the stairs, while quiet and surprisingly sharp Antivan cursing filtering down from above. “I guess that’s busted.”


	11. "That was impressive." (Gen)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt 11: "That was impressive."  
> Characters/Ship: Ana Faber; Callum Hawke; Runa the mabari  
> Rating: Gen  
> Warnings: mentions of PTSD/flashbacks, physical abuse by Templars, sort of Cullen-critical

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For context, Ana met the Hawke family shortly after coming to Ferelden when she was wandering as a lone apostate, and she ended up helping Malcolm against a group of raiders. In return, he let her stay with the family over the winter until she was eventually found by Templars and taken to Kinloch Hold.

Ana heard them coming long before she saw them.

First to appear was Runa. Her faithful mabari came bounding out of the undergrowth and into the clearing with a happy bark, darting straight over to where Ana sat against a fallen log looking out over the mountains. A few moments later, Hawke followed.

Callum Hawke looked more like his father every day, especially now with the flecks of grey starting to show in his beard and at his temples, the shadows of crows feet lingering around his eyes. And just like Malcolm, he took it upon himself to check up on people.

Even when – _especially when_ – they didn’t want him to.

Ana busied herself with Runa, giving the dog a grateful pet and scratch over her neck and shoulders, earning more happy rumbling and soft huffs of contentment before Runa practically threw herself over Ana’s lap, her heavy bulk essentially pinning the elven woman in place. Hawke just gave her that same old lop-sided smirk and took a seat on the other end of the log, facing towards her.

Leaning back, he glanced out towards the break in the trees and gave a long, low whistle.

“Now that’s a view. Forgot they did views like that back here.”

Ana made a non-committal sound in the back of her throat. Hawke continued.

“I mean, you saw Kirkwall. A couple of hills and mountains around but nothing to write home about. Except maybe Sundermount, but that’d be more a ‘I think I’m probably going to die here’ rather than the ‘wish you were here’ sort of letter.”

Still, she didn’t reply, staring off into the trees at nothing in particular, hand still absently petting the mabari on her lap.

Hawke paused, and out of the corner of her eye, she could see him turn to look at her.

“That was impressive,” he remarked lightly as if he were talking about the weather. “Not bad for someone in the middle of a panic attack. You know, the number of times I thought of throwing him through a fence and still–”

“Hawke. Stop.”

“No, really. He’d be standing there, yammering on about how ‘mages aren’t people’, and I’d just slip off into this delightful happy place where I could hurl Templars about freely without being skewered by the Knight-Commander. It was quite wonderful, actually. Very relaxing.”

Ana felt her mouth twitch despite herself and pressed her lips tightly together to stop it.

Too late.

“Ah-ah, I saw that, Miss Gloom-and-doom.” When she finally glanced over, Hawke was grinning broadly and looking far too pleased with himself. “You know, if I didn’t know better, I’d almost guess Fenris had been giving you lessons.”

She rolled her eyes at that one. On the rare occasions she’d met Hawke’s beau, she rather imagined the only thing the other elf would happily give her was an earful.

Hawke’s grin softened a little. “But on a more serious note – you’re alright?”

Ana only barely swallowed a sigh, chewing on the inside of her lip.

“I think Commander Cullen is the one you should be asking that.”

It had been entirely on accident, although she doubted anyone would believe it. She’d already been sparring with Blackwall in the yard – it was early enough in the day that the main grounds were mostly empty and she liked trying to keep her swordplay sharp, even if her magic still remained her primary weapon. After a few rounds, the warden had been called off by Leliana for some questions about their plans for Adamant. Ana had still been happy to go another round or two and Cullen had been nearby and volunteered.

Of course, she knew she wasn’t exactly up to the same skill as a man who had spent most of his life with a sword in his hand. Blackwall tended to hold back a little more to give her a fighting chance, but Cullen had no such restraint. Within the first few moves, she’d known how the match was going to end, and honestly, she should have walked away then. But stubbornness and pride kept her in the ring, even as her arms tired and her focus waned.

She’d been trying to feint to the left, then make a jab at a gap in his guard on the right when he’d obviously caught her plan and intercepted, knocking her back on her arse, _hard_. He’d advanced, sword in hand and for a moment, she’d thought–

_–plate armour, sword shining, eye stinging and she can feel blood on her face, the look in his eye, madness, he’s going to kill her, he’s going to–_

It had been reflex, her heart hammering and her eyes already burning as she released a short, sharp pulse of magic, sending Cullen flying back into – _and through_ – the wooden fence around the training ring. She’d lain there, frozen for a moment, before getting up and walking as fast as she could away from the keep.

And she’d ended up here, her feet pulling her along almost automatically as her thoughts spun out of control.

Now, of course, with her heart rate back to normal and a clear head, she could only curse herself for being so stupid. He wasn’t a Templar, not any more. And back then… he hadn’t been well. None of them had been, after Uldred. It wasn’t an excuse, and it certainly didn’t wipe away the years he’d remained a faithful lapdog to the Templar Order, but they had both agreed to try to put their past behind them for the sake of the Inquisition and to try and ensure peace between their mage and Templar recruits.

Fat chance of that now.

“It shouldn’t have happened,” she muttered, half to herself. “I know better.”

She glanced up, catching Hawke looking at her with an expression that was a mix of fondness, compassion, and exasperation.

“You’re too hard on yourself,” he replied, groaning quietly as he stretched out his arms in front of him before settling back, hands folded easily over his stomach. “Yes, you know things are different now, but you can’t expect yourself to forget when someone tries to kill you for defending kids under your care.”

She looked away, not able to meet his gaze. “He thought they were blood mages.”

“From what I remember in Kirkwall, he thought every mage was a blood mage or one in waiting,” Hawke reminded her. When she didn’t reply again, he sighed, sitting up and scrubbing a hand over his face.

“I get it. Varric says ‘Curly’ is trying to sort himself out and fix things. Good for him, I’m glad he’s doing that. But just because he’s apologised, even if you accepted it – it doesn’t mean you have to feel better about it. Even if everyone’s telling you it would be easier if you did.”

There was something in Hawke’s voice that made Ana turn back to him, a steely undertone that brooked no argument, and when she looked at his face, she remembered this wasn’t just Callum Hawke, the friendly and good-natured son of an apostate who was kind enough to let her hide in their barn over winter. This man was the Champion of Kirkwall, a man who had faced down the Arishok in single-combat and won; who had loudly and without hesitation pledged allegiance with the Circle against a tyrannical Knight-Commander; and who, when the city was burning and death hanging over them all, had refused to kill the apostate responsible – not because he agreed with him, or out of loyalty, but because he knew exactly what had driven him to it.

And if anyone was going to understand her lingering fear, even when everyone seemed to insist she simply get over it, it was Hawke.

Something heavy and tight in her chest loosened a little, and she offered a small smile.

“I know, Hawke. And thank you. Maybe you’re right.”

Hawke gave an approving nod. “See? I told Fenris that, but he never believes me.” He paused, then grinned. “Could you maybe put that in writing?”

She laughed at that. “Oh no, I’m not inflating your ego any more than it already is.”

“You wound me, Enchanter,” he sighed, making a show of clutching his chest before slowly pulled himself up off of the log with a heartfelt groan. “You know, I’m sure the simple act of _moving_ never used to hurt this much.”

“Welcome to old age,” she replied blithely, urging Runa up and standing up herself with a modicum less effort. “It’s all downhill from here.”

“Wonderful,” came the deadpan reply. “Ready to head back? I’m sure the First Enchanter’s heard by now – who knows, we might get to see _him_ throw Cullen around next?”

“Don’t even joke,” she warned, not entirely certain it wouldn’t happen. Orsino had his own grievances with Cullen, and she still wasn’t sure there wouldn’t be a reckoning someday.

“Or your new Tevinter ‘friend’? Really, are you just collecting them now?”

“Maker, you are the worst.”

“Funny, all my friends say that,” Hawke replied with a knowing grin, “and I haven’t the faintest idea why.”


	12. "And neither should you." (Gen)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt 12: "And neither should you."  
> Characters/Ship: Lia Lavellan; Madame Vivienne [Josephine/OC]  
> Rating: Gen  
> Warnings: none

It probably said something about Lia that the person she was least intimidated by in their little oddball circle was the fearsome _Iron Lady_ Vivienne.

Oh, she certainly respected her and remained, even now, slightly in awe of the poise and grace and control she exuded, whether she was hosting a salon, cutting down Venatori, or taking promising young apprentices under her wing. She knew if she ever crossed her, Vivienne would undoubtedly ensure she regretted it, and socially and politically, she was almost undoubtedly the most dangerous amongst them as an enemy. But as she took her usual seat opposite the Imperial Enchanter’s chaise, leaning back with a grin, she didn’t find her intimidating in the slightest.

Madame de Fer had never hidden who she was and what her aims were, not really, and Lia liked that.

“Do remind me to put you in touch with my tailor, dear,” Vivienne remarked by way of greeting. “I do appreciate the need to appear ready for action at all times, but I think you certainly deserve to treat yourself to something more…”

“Impractical?” Lia replied, earning a polite chuckle.

“I was aiming more for luxurious,” she corrected. “Opulence and practicality are not necessarily mutually exclusive, although I dare say the passing trends would imply otherwise.”

As she talked, Vivienne turned to the short table between them, now laden with a beautiful gilded tea set, along with a delightful array of nibbles Lia only half-remembered the names of and had likely been ordered in by Vivienne especially. Weekly afternoon tea was something of a ritual at this point when they were both at Skyhold, and Lia always enjoyed them. Not least because of the gossip.

After cups were filled and dainty little pastries set on fine porcelain plates, Vivienne continued.

“I’m also sure our Lady Ambassador would be happy to offer her expertise, especially if you were looking for something more… adventurous?”

Her tone and delicate smirk were far too knowing. Lia felt her cheeks warm, and quickly took a sip of her slightly too hot tea. Damn the woman and her ability to see through everything.

“I’m sure Lady Josephine has more than enough to be dealing with without me pestering her for fashion advice,” Lia said quickly as she set down her cup.

Vivienne’s eyes gleamed with amusement.

“But not enough to stop your dancing lessons,” she remarked wryly, taking a pointed sip from her own teacup. “How are those going, by the way?”

After swallowing down an indignant and very unladylike splutter, Lia croaked out, “She’s– They’re fine. Just fine.”

Vivienne’s responding laughter was almost musical.

“My dear, we really must work on your reactions. Besides,” she added, inspecting a delicate madeleine, “while Lady Josephine is an astute player of the Game, I can almost certainly guarantee that she is more than agreeable to your attentions.”

For a hot second, Lia fervently wished her tea was laced with something far stronger. Or that she was dreaming. Or that the roof would cave in or Corypheus would suddenly attack out of nowhere or… anything, _anything at all but having this conversation right now_.

Lia fought the urge to fidget while Vivienne continued to watch her with considering eyes.

“I–ah, well, I mean…” Lia stammered, then shook her head, trying to clear it. “I’m sorry, but are you trying to encourage me to… _court_ Lady Josephine?”

Vivienne gave her an almost pitying look.

“Of course, my dear. While I certainly would advise not making such an objective your priority until Corypheus has been dealt with, it’s never too early to consider a worthwhile match when it presents itself. And an alliance with House Montilyet would certainly be beneficial for both parties.”

Lia’s eyebrows rose despite her best efforts.

“I’m an elf,” she blurted out. “And a former thief. And a Tevinter runaway. Josephine is – she’s nobility and… how on earth would that be _beneficial?_ ”

Another sympathetic look.

“We all start as something, but it is what we choose to become that matters,” Vivienne said, her tone warm but firm. “Whatever you were before you entered the Temple of Sacred Ashes, you left its ruins as the Herald of Andraste, and now you stand before Thedas as the leader of the Inquisition. You speak with the authority of one marked by the Maker, regardless of your origins. Likewise, while the Montilyets are of noble blood and certainly have worked hard to maintain their good reputation, they have lacked an active role in shaping politics in Thedas until Lady Josephine. A potential partnership would draw House Montilyet further into the sphere of influence – many would see the opportunity to befriend them as an opportunity to gain the favour of Andraste’s chosen. And should you find that once Corypheus has been defeated and the powerful of Thedas find they are no longer in need of the Inquisition, a connection to an old and respected house will ensure your legacy does not fade into obscurity.”

Lia blinked as Vivienne finished, fighting the urge to stare as the woman took a sip from her teacup before returning it to its saucer with a delicate ‘clink’.

“You almost make it sound like a business transaction,” she murmured.

“That is all any successful relationship is, my dear,” Vivienne replied. “Romantic attachment is all well and good, but to flourish there must be a solid foundation of mutual benefit. Unfortunately, there are too many people who give far too much of themselves with far too little in return. No one should seek to tie themselves to a situation unworthy of them,” she said, and with a pointed look added, “and neither should you.”

There was a pause as Lia absorbed Vivienne’s words – both spoken and unspoken – and the other woman quietly drank her tea. It was almost as though Vivienne was… worried? About her?

It was… rather sweet, actually.

“Thank you, Vivienne. I _think_ that might be the nicest thing anyone’s said to me.”

Vivienne’s mouth flattened slightly, and if Lia hadn’t known better, she’d almost have believed the Iron Lady looked a little… abashed?

“Yes, well, let’s try not to let it go to your head, dear.”

Lia nodded, letting the matter drop as Vivienne smoothly steered the conversation back towards matters of courtly intrigue and preparations for the Winter Palace. But she couldn’t quite wipe the smug little smile off of her face, even long after she left.


	13. "Sometimes you can even see." (unrequited Solas/OC)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt 13: "Sometimes you can even see."  
> Characters/Ship: Solas; Ana Faber [one-sided Solas/OC]  
> Rating: Gen  
> Warnings: mild Elvhen angst, unrequited pining/denial

The party had gone off without a hitch, despite all expectations to the contrary.

Inquisitor Lavellan had cut a surprisingly regal figure for most of the evening, clad in a gown of deep, emerald green that respected current fashion while also incorporating a host of accents nodding to the heritage of her adopted clan. Solas even guessed she’d been taking some advice from both Lady Josephine and Madame Vivienne regarding proper courtly manners and etiquette, as she had managed to navigate the majority of the evening with only minimal slip-ups in front of her more distinguished guests. What mistakes there were, were easily glossed over with the help of her sister.

Solas had kept to the sidelines, happy to play the role of an observer rather than a participant in the evening’s festivities. For all his concerns about the appointment of the new Inquisitor and her methods, he did not begrudge her or Ana their birthday celebrations. After Haven, it was all too easy to imagine a world where either one of the sisters might have never reached it.

In the Fade, too, the spirits that lingered near Skyhold watched, and he could feel their closeness as they followed the night’s events, drawn by the dancing and gossip and intrigue that came with any society gathering. Every so often, he caught a glimmer just out of the corner of his eye – an impression of something not quite here, but close enough to feel as real as the wine glass in his hand. It was hardly the first ball that had been held in these walls, but it was certainly the first in many years. The Veil shimmered invisibly around them as the denizens of the Fade took in all of it.

Almost of its own will, Solas found his gaze seeking out Enchanter Ana.

She was a shadow in motion, her gown no less elegant than her sister’s – perhaps more so, if Solas were feeling particularly mean; a sleek, fitted shimmer of lace and silk, dotted with beading and tiny gems that caught the lamplight and glimmered like the evening sky. She was dancing with Warden Blackwall, laughing as they exchanged some private joke. Solas watched from out of the corner of his eye, and wondered if she felt the weight of Fade as he did? Would she sleep tonight and seek out echoes of the same dances in the world of dreams, searching for secrets and hidden glimpses of the night through the impressions left behind?

Perhaps he was simply out of practice, or maybe the wine had gone to his head quicker than he anticipated because the dance drew to a close and before he could look away, Ana turned and spotted him.

Her smile was bright as she approached.

“I was wondering where you were,” she greeted him warmly, cheeks flushed with either dancing or wine, it was hard to tell. “Don’t tell me you’ve been trying to get out dancing.”

He chuckled, conceding with a nod.

“I confess I’ve always enjoyed watching celebrations more than joining in.”

“And what do you think so far?” Ana pressed, eyes twinkling with merriment.

“I believe Josephine has excelled herself, and your sister has managed to conduct herself adequately enough to avoid too much gossip,” Solas replied honestly, earning a quiet, amused huff as Ana shook her head.

“Well, let’s hope it stays that way, although I have my doubts,” she admitted, but there was more fondness than censure in her tone. She turned her head to watch as the next round of dancers began to move towards the floor, then back to him with a questioning glance.

“Sure I can’t tempt you for a dance, messere?”

Her look was mischievous, a dare and a challenge in one. The smart thing was to decline, to thank her and retire for the evening, to do anything but–

“You had only to ask.”

– _that._

Ana’s delighted smile was enough for him to ignore the chiding voice in the back of his head berating his decision. Solas, of course, knew the gesture was meant innocently enough – while it was not necessarily public knowledge, it was hardly secret that Enchanter Ana and the formerly First Enchanter Orsino were together, or that there was reason to believe they’d taken the disgraced magister-turned-prisoner into their relationship. He was under no illusions as to his place in Ana’s esteem.

Which was as it should be. Her gift as a Dreamer was remarkable and he cherished the opportunity to help show her all the wonders and marvels of the Fade and to see where her talents might lead her. But he could only ever be a friend to her – his own purpose denied anything more.

They took their places as the music began, turning and stepping in time with the thrumming melody that drowned out the conversation around them.

“So, what has you so serious this evening?” Ana asked.

He rose an eyebrow, smirking. “More than usual?”

“You are far less serious than you ever make out to be. Trust me, I can tell.”

Solas barely managed to keep the amused grin from his face. “Clearly, I need to work on my acting. Or invest in a mask, perhaps?”

Ana made a face at that, her Fereldan sensibilities showing. After a moment, Solas conceded.

“Have you noticed how active the Fade is this evening?”

The elven woman’s face lit up, enthusiasm and curiosity outweighing any pretence at decorum.

“I was wondering about that!” she remarked as she turned under his arm. “It’s like I can feel the Veil buzzing with it. I’m glad you noticed too – Lia looked at me like I was mad when I mentioned it.”

“The Veil is remarkably thin here,” Solas admitted. “I would imagine most here can feel the effect, although few will correctly identify the cause. If I had to guess, I would suppose there are several powerful spirits nearby – Joy perhaps, or Curiosity. Maybe even a few drawn to the promise of intrigue or romance.”

“Oh?” Ana’s eyebrow rose and for a moment, sweeping panic filled him. “And here I imagine Lia thought her little crush might go unnoticed.”

Solas blinked, recovering quickly. “Ah, yes – well, subtlety is hardly your sister’s strong suit?”

Another laugh and the inexplicable tightness in his chest eased. Of course, she hadn’t meant… no, that was ridiculous. _Of course._

The dance moved on, and Ana turned to stand with her back towards him, to his left, hands clasped and his chest pressed to her shoulder.

“Sometimes you can even see…” he heard her murmur before her face turned to look up at him. “Can’t you?”

She meant the Fade, of course, the spirits pressing against the Veil almost as tangible and solid as the world around them, all the more vivid to those more sensitive to their presence. But in that moment, there was something else he could see – a world long lost but not forgotten, suddenly vivid and bright and real. A world where they might have danced like this a hundred times, and her gift all the more dazzling without the dullness of the mundane to hold it back. A world where he could have…

“Yes,” he said, voice rough and quiet and likely lost in the swirl of music. “Yes, I see it.”

She smiled again, turning back to face the room as their feet moved through practised steps.

“It’s rather beautiful, isn’t it?”

He watched her still.

_Yes, it was._


	14. "Just say it." (Alexius/Orsino)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt 14: "Just say it."  
> Characters/Ship: Orsino; Gereon Alexius [Orsino/Alexius; implied Orsino/Alexius/OC]  
> Rating: Mature  
> Warnings: sad mage lemons, mild angst with a hopeful ending

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: This one’s a bit different from the others in that it went a bit more stream-of-consciousness-y and introspective. Also yeah, gentle non-explicit lemons ahead so if that’s not your bag, give this one a miss.

It begins as it always does, with a problem.

Oh, Orsino knows well enough that whatever curiosity Alexius has been landed with investigating is no real match for his intellect – the man was considered one of the foremost minds of the Imperium before grief and desperation drew him to abandon it all at the feet of a would-be god. It is an excuse, albeit transparent, to draw Orsino to his rooms for a late evening of research and discussion; an excuse to stray away from the prying eyes of the Nightingale’s watchers.

At least, that is what he always thought it was. The truth is, as always, infinitely more complex.

The door is barely closed behind them when the facade is dropped and mouths meet, lips and tongue pressing, pulling, each tumbling into the other in the way of hidden lovers. It’s a dance Orsino knows well, one where desperate steps are marked with silent sighs and empty promises. His fingers grasp at robes, seeking out the edges to anchor to warm skin beneath, searching for something real in it all.

The dance is familiar, but not one he wants to follow any more. He wants, he _wants_ –

Kisses break into a trail of lips and hot breath along his throat and he groans, eyes flickering closed as he surrenders to it, the shadows in his thoughts pushed back but not forgotten.

There is a confidence in Alexius’ manner that jars with his clear hesitance to address the silent ghosts between them. He is, perhaps, a handful of years Orsino’s senior and unlike the former First Enchanter, he’s been fortunate enough to live a life where he could, and did, love freely and without fear. But now, here, he hesitates to speak more of his true feelings – no more than the occasional whisper of that singular term of endearment in an unknown tongue, one that Ana knows the true meaning of far better than he. Still, where his tongue is quiet, his actions are bolder, clearer. Robes are discarded with ease by hands that show no reticence to draw over the pale lines of him, ghosting over old scars with both certainty and reverence.

The bed is small, far smaller than Ana’s but she is gone this evening, drawn out with her sister to the Storm Coast where reports of Red Templars–

He stops that line of thought there. It would do none of them any good – he trusts her strength and that of her companions, and does not consider the chance she might not return.

If he did… he’s not sure he’d be able to let her leave again.

They fall in together, limbs curling and pulling each other as close as two people can be without sharing a skin. Sometimes, Orsino wants nothing more than to be closer still, envying those like Ana and Solas who can wander into the dreams of others so easily, knowing it is a close as one can be to knowing another’s soul.

A hand grasps between them, warm and just dry enough to add an edge to the pleasure that flares in his gut.

The next kiss is biting, warring, a demand of teeth and tongue and Orsino answers, letting the moment fill him up until it thrums in his veins. Alexius’ breath in his mouth is hot and sweet with the honeyed tea he drinks and he’s hungry for it, for him.

For more.

“Vhenan…”

The word pulls a groan from the man. He knows what it means, Orsino made a point to tell him. Even if Alexius cannot admit out loud what this is between the three of them, Orsino will not hide, not any more.

He has seen enough love die in the dark to let it do so again.

His heart hammers in his chest and he feels the mirror of it behind Alexius’ ribcage, feels as much as hears the quickening gasps and smothered groans as they near that inevitable edge and some small part of him wants to stave it off at long as he can, to savour this moment where masks and lines and walls are dropped and the only words left in him are a mantra and a plea.

_Say it. Please. Please, just say it. Just say it, I need you to–_

“Amatus.”

The word is almost lost between them, a sob and a groan against his shoulder as ecstasy grips the former magister and it is all Orsino can do to gasp and hold him through it, his own bliss hot on his heels.

It’s quiet afterwards. Alexius becomes remarkably cuddly after intimacy, a heavy blanket plastered to Orsino’s side in the narrow bed. The First Enchanter doesn’t mind, in fact, rather enjoys it – a novelty he never had much opportunity for in the Circle, to linger in a lover’s bed.

Perhaps that’s what irks him so much about the current arrangement. With Ana, it is no secret what they are to each other and for the first time in his long life, he almost is starting to believe he can have this. And it’s intoxicating, exhilarating, so much so that he’s hungry for more, tired of sneaking behind Inquisition guards and sending coded letters _and, and, and_ …

He wants to love in the light, without fear and secrets. He wants to be able to kiss his lover – either of them – in the open and not fear retribution. And he knows Ana feels the same, although she does not say it yet. He knows her well enough to know that.

What he doesn’t know is if that is what Alexius wants – will ever want. And he’s afraid to ask in case the answer is what he fears.

“I feel I should apologise,” Alexius murmurs after a while, voice rough with use and wry humour.

“Oh?”

“I did actually have something I wanted you to have a look at,” he admits, and Orsino can feel the faint smile against his collar. “I’m afraid I became… distracted.”

“I don’t believe I was complaining,” Orsino hums, and Maker his voice sounds like sin even to his own ears. Paired with the heat still warming his skin and his general dishevelled state, he doubts he’ll be fit to be seen outside for some time at least.

Alexius’ chuckle is warm and quiet and almost enough to chase the shadow of creeping doubt from his mind. A kiss presses to his shoulder, brief but deliberate, and the two slowly disentangle, cleaning up before Alexius brings over the text in question.

They talk and exchange ideas and hypotheticals, the same as they did before all of this, and when they’re finally done, it’s late and really, that bed is far too small for more than one person to sleep comfortably so Orsino really should go back to his own rooms for the night.

“You’re welcome to stay.”

The offer is made lightly, but it’s the first time Alexius has made it, and he knows Orsino knows it too.

Perhaps Orsino isn’t the only one getting tired of hiding.

He stays the night. He wakes up to a crick in his neck and wary looks in the morning, but he doesn’t regret a thing.


	15. "Back up!" (Gen)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt 15: "Back up!"  
> Characters/Ship: Ana Faber; Cassandra Pentaghast  
> Rating: Gen  
> Warnings: mild injury, trust issues

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Sort-of sequel to Day 11.

“ _It’s coming down, Boss, back up!”_

“ _I can get it!”_

“ _Lia, stop–!”_

The ride back to Skyhold had been gruelling, to say the least. Ana gritted her teeth, refusing to complain, her wounded shoulder jarring with every hoof-beat against the road. The claws had gone deep; deep enough that while healing potions had been enough to stop her bleeding out, they hadn’t been enough to close the wound entirely. Most of her upper torso was wrapped in thick bandages, and she was sweltering under the heavy cloak.

At least the dragon was dead now, Iron Bull’s heavy broad-axe embedded in its skull.

Usually, a dragon hunt ended with a little more raucous celebration – Maker knew how much Lia and Bull had drunk of that awful liquor he’d convinced Cabot to order in, although the hangover looked like it had lasted at least three days. Now, though, the group was quiet – Lia rode up ahead with Sera, her silence frosty in the few moments she’d spoken to her after they’d all been patched up and set off from camp. Bull was bringing up the rear. And Cassandra–

“Enchanter?”

–was right beside her. _Of course._

Ana tilted her head in acknowledgement, too tired to focus on lifting her eyes from the road ahead.

“Yes?”

The Seeker’s brows pulled together in a frown. “If you need to stop and rest, we can–”

“I’m quite alright, Seeker,” Ana interrupted sharply. “I’d far rather get back to Skyhold.”

A pause.

“Of course,” Cassandra replied, in the tone of someone who didn’t believe it for a moment.

Ana resisted the urge to roll her eyes.

She never knew quite how to feel about Seeker Cassandra. The woman was driven, principled, and spoke her mind even when it cost her to do so. All qualities Ana respected herself. But her loyalty to the Chantry and to standing with the status quo had always niggled and left her on edge around her.

“I spoke with Commander Cullen before we left,” she said after they had been riding in uneasy quiet for a few moments. “There was talk of an… _altercation_ between the two of you. I thought it best to investigate.”

Ana bit back a groan, half at the Seeker’s words and half as her horse stepped over an uneven bit of road, jolting her injured arm painfully.

“And what did the good Commander say?” she asked when she could catch her breath again.

Watching out of the side of her gaze, she saw Cassandra’s frown grow, her eyes narrowing.

“The details are between Cullen and myself,” she replied shortly. “However, I feel I must ask you if there is a problem here that needs to be dealt with? The Inquisition cannot afford petty in-fighting, as well you know.”

Which of course meant _be quiet and stop being a problem._ Fine. She already barely spoke to Cullen as it was.

“I understand your concern,” Ana managed through gritted teeth, “but it was an aberration. Trust me, it will not happen again.”

Cassandra huffed quietly, her breath misting in the cool air.

“No, I imagine it won’t, given Cullen gave me the exact same answer.” The woman turned to face her, a curious look on her face. “He told me you were originally from the Fereldan Circle.”

Ana stiffened where she sat, schooling her face into a neutral expression.

“Did he tell you anything else?” she asked evenly.

Cassandra pursed her lips. “No,” she admitted. “I was hoping you might.”

“I’m afraid the details are between Cullen and myself,” Ana parroted, allowing herself a small, humourless smirk at the glower that got her.

A few more yards in relative silence. Up ahead, Lia and Sera were now riding side-by-side, their conversation too low to hear. Behind, Bull was whistling something far too jaunty for the dour grey day.

It was too much, perhaps, to hope that the Seeker would leave the matter lie, of course.

“After Haven, the Inquisition could have easily crumbled,” she said, leaving Ana to wonder where this was leading. “It even might have, without Lavellan, and still could, if we cannot trust one another.”

Ana tried and failed to stifle a bitter laugh.

“Ah, so that’s it,” she sighed. “I’m afraid, Seeker, I’m quite used to not being particularly trusted – I’m a Vint, a mage, and an elf with a penchant for not ducking my head and keeping my mouth shut when I’m told to. Whatever little warning you’re intending about watching me carefully, believe me, I already assumed you were.”

She didn’t bother to look to her side to see the woman’s reaction. It was the truth, after all, and better they acknowledge it than pretend otherwise.

It still hurt. After everything… but then, what else could she expect?

“I never said I did not trust you.”

Ana choked back another laugh, earning a quiet growl.

“I don’t know what I have done to convince you otherwise, but let me be clear now – I trust you, as much as I trust any of our companions,” she insisted, and despite herself, Ana found herself watching as a curious blend of earnestness and irritation mingled in her expression. “What I do not know is why you cannot extend that same trust.”

Ana could feel her eyebrows creeping up her forehead.

“You want me to trust you?” The words came out more incredulous than she meant, and Cassandra’s face hardened.

“Have I done something personally to warrant your reproach?”

“I…” Ana hesitated. No, she hadn’t. Not really. They didn’t see eye-to-eye on many issues, but had there really been a moment where she believed the Seeker intended her ill or harm?

She sighed, setting her jaw as she turned to face the road again.

“No, you haven’t,” she admitted, “and I apologise for any offence. Trust is… not something I find easy to give, but that is no reflection on your character. More on mine, in fact.”

Cassandra hummed quietly. “I wish I could say I was surprised – but I am not. If you do not even trust your own sister, I can hardly expect–”

“ _What?_ ” Ana turned, staring. “Of course I trust Lia. She’s my sister.”

“A sister you spent the majority of your adult life separated from,” Cassandra countered. “You are different people, with different lives. You have more than good enough reason to treat her with the same scepticism as you do anyone else.”

It was Ana’s turn to narrow her eyes, her hands turning white as she gripped the reins of her horse.

“And what makes you so certain I don’t trust her?” she hissed.

Cassandra rose an eyebrow. “Today,” she replied, nodding to Ana’s injured shoulder.

She gave a snort. “I was slow and I got cau–”

“Lavellan had a plan, which you ignored and you were injured,” Cassandra interrupted, her tone hard. “I have seen your sister in battle and she is a competent fighter with a good sense of tactics – far better than most recruits I’ve seen. Your actions were unnecessary at best, wilfully reckless at worst.”

“The dragon–”

“Would have gone down, one way or another,” Cassandra insisted. She eyed Ana for a long moment, her face inscrutable. “I do not pretend to understand the relationship you have or the reasons why you have both ended up where you are. But I do know the Inquisitor will be asked to take many more risks before this is done, and I need to know you can trust her to meet them.”

“Why do I feel there’s an ‘or’ at the end of that sentence?”

“Because if you can’t trust her, and if you cannot learn to trust her, then perhaps you should step away and allow those who do to fight by her side.”

And with that, Cassandra let her horse fall back until Ana was alone again on the road.

She clenched and unclenched her hands on the reins, eyes glancing up towards her sister’s back and then away, frowning as something tasting too close to guilt churned in her stomach. Of course, she trusted Lia, she was her sister, she was…

Cassandra didn’t…

She trusted her.

Didn’t she?


	16. "How about you trust me for once?" (Gen)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt 16: "How about you trust me for once?"  
> Characters/Ship: Lia Lavellan; Ana Faber  
> Rating: Gen  
> Warnings: miscommunication, sibling angst, mentions of blood/canon-typical injury

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: This is a direct sequel to Day 15, and probably won’t make much sense without it.

The door slammed behind her, echoing off of the high ceiling as Lia stomped up the stairs to her quarters. Yes, it was petty and probably a little childish, but it was better than screaming.

Maybe.

She still might have to scream. Possibly into a pillow.

Toeing off her boots with little care for the laces and buckles and Madame Vivienne’s arch voice reminding her that _you’ll stretch out the leather doing that, my dear_ , her cloak went next, then her armour as she dumped it piecemeal onto the floor as she paced, restless and fizzing.

Alright, so she’d been pissed coming back from the coast. The dragon that had come out of nowhere hadn’t been on their itinerary, but it was as good a time as any to deal with it and she knew they could handle it. And then the bloody thing had swooped back in after flying out of range, coming in behind the treeline and she hadn’t seen it until the last moment and then suddenly Ana was shoving her out the way and–

Maker, there’d been so much blood.

Lia swallowed, trying to dislodge the painful lump of ice that seemed to have settled in her chest, tugging impatiently at the light chain-mail she wore over her leather jerkin. She’d need to take some of it back down to the undercroft for mending and fixing up, but she didn’t want to think about that now.

Ana was fine, of course – bloodied and bruised and stiffer than a Chantry brother in a whorehouse, but fine. And Lia’s fear had given way to something easier to chew on, a burning anger that smouldered with no real way to work itself out. She wasn’t angry at Ana, even if she knew she could have dodged the hit herself – Maker knew she’d have done the same if the situation was reversed. She was angry at herself, angry that yet again, her screw-ups got her sister suffering the brunt of the consequences.

And then they’d gotten back to Skyhold and it all went to the Void.

Lia growled at the memory, the final piece of armour falling to the floor at last, and she flung herself back on the bed, no mind for the mess she was probably making of the clean linens.

Ana had been quiet most of the way back, besides occasionally talking with Cassandra or Bull. Lia had calmed down a bit by then, Sera’s joking taking her mind off of the worst of it, and she’d caught Ana as she was dismounting in the yard, already handing over their gear to the squires.

“ _Don’t worry, we’ll have a proper celebration after the next one.”_

_A pause, and then, “I don’t think there’ll be a next one. For me, I mean.”_

_She’d laughed. “Don’t be daft. You’ll heal up fine.”_

“ _I mean I don’t think I’ll be coming out with you again.”_

The way she’d said it, tired and empty and _final_ , like she’d already made the decision and letting Lia know was a Creator-damned courtesy.

Like it was Lia’s fault.

She wasn’t entirely sure what she’d said after that, but it had obviously hit wrong, because within minutes they were practically screaming at each other because Ana wouldn’t budge, didn’t want to explain and Lia, well… she never was good at taking no for an answer.

She hadn’t meant for it to happen, hadn’t asked for Ana to push her aside, to take the hit for her. Just the same as she hadn’t meant to get in trouble back in Tevinter, hadn’t meant for them to be forced to run south, hadn’t meant for Ana to run away from Templars by herself, hadn’t meant for her to get caught, hadn’t meant…

_Fuck._

She hadn’t meant a lot of things to happen. But she’d thought Ana had forgiven her, thought they were past that.

Thought she trusted her.

“ _How about you trust me for once?_ ”

Surely Ana knew Lia would do everything she could to keep her safe, to make sure she didn’t have to suffer for her mistakes again? But the minute Lia said it, Ana’s face froze and she just… stopped. Then turned and walked back to the keep without another word.

Which was all the answer she needed, wasn’t it?

Lia thudded her head back against the mattress a few times, and then when that wasn’t satisfying enough, grabbed the nearest cushion, buried her face in it and screamed as hard as her lungs could manage. Doing that a couple of times helped, or at least left her light-headed enough that the anger and the hurt felt a little easier to handle. Letting the pillow fall to one side, she glanced over the edge of the bed and grimaced.

She really should tidy up.

By the time she’d picked up her cloak and armour and boots, piling up the gear to take back to the armoury for mending and changing into something that wasn’t caked in three days’ worth of mud, it felt like the last smouldering embers of her rage had finally gone out, only leaving a hollow, empty acceptance.

The light was fading from outside and she should probably light one of the lamps, maybe get the fire going. Instead, she curled up onto the couch, pulling over the halla-wool blanket Keeper Deshanna had given her before she left, and lay there, looking out at the gathering gloom over the mountains.

Whatever Ana wanted – if she didn’t think she could trust Lia to watch out for her in the field – if she wanted to step back into a more advisory role like Cullen or Leliana or Josephine… Lia would let her. She’d rather have her sister near in any capacity than not at all. And maybe if she didn’t push, they could work on things. Maybe she could earn her trust again.

It was a cold comfort, and even when she finally slipped into her bed, sleep was hard to find.


	17. "I can't do this anymore." (Gen)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt 17: "I can't do this anymore."  
> Characters/Ship: Ana Faber; Cullen Rutherford  
> Rating: Teen  
> Warnings: lyrium addiction/withdrawal, mentions of trauma/PTSD, mentions of canon-typical violence

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Follows on from Day 16.   
> The training grounds incident and Ana’s history with Cullen is referred to in Day 11.   
> In short, Ana was at Kinloch Hold during Uldred’s attack. Shortly afterwards, she found Cullen, suffering from paranoid delusions, about to attack a pair of apprentices, believing they were blood mages. Ana got in the way and saved the apprentices, but was injured by Cullen’s blow. Believing he intended to attack her again, she used magic against him. As a result of the altercation, Cullen was sent to a Chantry monastery where he would later be recruited by Meredith, and Ana was sentenced with corporal punishment and time in solitary for the crime of attacking a Templar, while the apprentices were sent away as suspected blood mages. Ana never forgave Cullen (or herself) for that.

Ana found him leaning against the battlements, pale and shaking and soaked in sweat.

It was late. She’d needed out, needed fresh air in her lungs and the cool breeze on her face after a day stuck in her office, avoiding whispers and well-intentioned fussing. Injury and illness had never sat well with her, and she was more than aware she’d ended up taking out her foul mood on those around her – not least Orsino and Alexius, who’d been finding reasons to stop by with little ‘problems’ all day. But being cooped up for so long made her skin itch, so she’d pulled on her thick woollen cloak and set off for a quick walk around the keep before settling back into her research for the evening.

Runa, who had dutifully lingered by her feet most of the day, also seemed to welcome the escape, bounding ahead and then back to her mistress a half dozen times on their way across the courtyard.

There had been one or two passing guards, but no one else as she climbed the stairs to the battlements, and in the stark shadows from the waning moon, she almost didn’t see Cullen until she was upon him.

He was stood at the corner between the battlement wall and the tower with his back to her, clad only in breeches and a cotton shirt – not even his _boots_ – elbows braced against the battlement wall and his head hung low. His breathing was ragged, like he’d just run a mile, and she should see him shivering from where she stood.

She hesitated, uncertain for a moment if she should fetch someone else, before steeling herself.

“Commander?” she called softly, not wanting to startle him.

Not that it mattered. He didn’t even move – he might as well not even have heard her.

She tried again, stepping closer until she stood beside him at the wall.

“Commander? Are you well?”

He looked even worse up close, sweat beading along his brow despite the chill night, skin paler than it should be. Still no answer – his eyes were open but unseeing, like the world around them meant nothing to him.

“Cullen!” Ana’s voice rose slightly, and she reached out to place a hand on his arm.

A moment before she made contact, he flinched, drawing back sharply until his back hit against the tower wall. His eyes were wide, almost frightened, and she didn’t miss the way his sword arm twitched towards his side, reaching for the blade that wasn’t there.

She raised her hands in front of her, palms out.

“Cullen, are you alright?” she repeated, and she could hear the note of fear in her own voice. She’d seen this before, usually in older Templars when they were on half-rations of lyrium; dazed and twitchy, roaming the halls, fearful of everything that moved. Sometimes, they saw things that weren’t there and woe betide any unlucky apprentice who happened to be in their way.

Ana was suddenly very conscious she was alone, and that she couldn’t remember how far back in her walk she last saw a guard. Runa hung at her side, growling softly.

Cullen, for his part, simply stared, frozen. When he didn’t make any further move, Ana forced herself to relax a little.

“Commander Cullen, I need you to come back with me,” she said as firmly as she could manage. “You are unwell, and you need to go back to bed.”

He frowned, still not quite focusing on her, but eventually, after a long silence, he nodded.

“Of course,” he mumbled, turning on his heel and making for the door.

Breathing a sigh of relief, Ana followed after, Runa at her heels.

Once inside, Ana immediately lit one of the lamps and went towards the wood burner in the corner – now quite cold – and quickly set a fire with the logs stacked to the side and a spark of magic. Runa, meanwhile, shepherded the unsteady Commander to his desk, nudging him back until he was sat in his chair before resting her great head across his lap, effectively pinning him in place.

Cullen raised a hand, idly stroking the mabari’s neck as Ana returned with a cup of water from the pitcher by the desk.

“Here,” she offered. “Drink.”

Cullen blinked up at her, brows furrowing as if he were only just now seeing her. He took the cup with unsteady fingers and drained it quickly. When he finished, she took the cup and refilled it again, setting it by him on the desk. Then, after a moment’s thought, she unfastened her cloak, folding it and setting it over the desk behind her – empty, at least, a sign of Cullen’s fastidious approach to paperwork.

“What happened?” he asked at last, voice thick and groggy as if he’d just come out of sleep. Which in a way, Ana supposed he had.

She told him, watching his face carefully as he grimaced, the muscle in his jaw jumping. Dismay, anger, pain, but not surprise.

_This isn’t the first time this has happened, is it?_

“I, ah… I apologise,” Cullen murmured, eyes looking almost anywhere but at her face, expression chagrined. He paused, taking a breath before finally meeting her gaze. “Thank you. I should be fine now.”

She gave him a hard stare at that. He met it for a moment, but whether he was still too groggy or perhaps too shaken to hold it, he gave up with a sigh, turning his attention back to Runa, who seemed quite content with being petted.

“I’ve stopped taking lyrium,” Cullen admitted quietly.

“Well, that much was obvious,” Ana replied sharply, raising an eyebrow as he looked up in surprise. “What, you really think Circle mages don’t know what lyrium withdrawal looks like?”

“That’s… fair, I suppose.”

His shoulders slumped and he scrubbed a hand down his face, looking nothing short of defeated as he stared out the nearby window with bleary eyes.

Ana studied him for a moment, arms folded across her chest as she leaned against the desk. He was still pale and clammy-looking, dark circles under his eyes and a tense furrow in his brow that implied either a recent or lingering headache; but the shaking had subsided for the most part and at least now he seemed lucid. There was no small part of her that wanted to rage at him for being so reckless – lyrium withdrawal amongst mages was notoriously difficult, and from what little she’d seen, it looked no easier on Templars. And if Cullen had been sleepwalking or finding gaps in his memory, there was no denying the risk that posed not just to the Inquisition, but also to anyone who came across him when he was in such a state.

_He didn’t attack you_ , a little voice reminded her. It was always the irrational fear that lingered in her mind when it came to the Commander, that someday in rage or madness he might try to strike her or some other poor mage down again. She knew, logically, that he wouldn’t, but fear and logic were rarely easy bedfellows. That he hadn’t, even when lost to lyrium dreams…

Ridiculous as it was, something heavy and tangled in her chest loosened, if only by a fraction.

“Does the Inquisitor know?” she asked carefully. Lia hadn’t mentioned it, but then, it was likely to be the sort of thing Cullen would ask to keep private. Lia might be terrible with hiding her own secrets, but she knew the value of others’.

Cullen shook his head, still looking out the window.

“No, I… I’ve asked Seeker Cassandra to – monitor my behaviour.” He made a noise somewhere between a groan and a chuckle, humourless and broken-sounding. “As much good as that has done.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means–” Cullen started, caught himself. Gritted his teeth and looked back down at Runa nuzzling against his hand. “It means I can’t do this anymore. The withdrawal is getting worse and I can’t… the Inquisition, the Herald, deserves better. You’ll be glad to hear I intend to ask Cassandra to recommend my replacement, sooner rather than later.”

Ana stared, not quite sure she could believe what she was hearing.

“How long have you been planning this?”

Cullen looked up, gaze weary. “Since the training grounds.”

She went very still, biting the inside of her cheek.

“That wasn’t your fault. I… I overreacted.”

Cullen laughed, short and harsh.

“I wonder why?” he murmured to himself, a bitter smile twisting his lips. It didn’t suit him, she thought.

Then something else occurred to her.

“You didn’t tell Cassandra,” Ana pointed out. “About why we – _started off on the wrong foot_. Why?”

Cullen’s eyebrows rose slightly, and he reached out for the cup of water.

“Did you?” he countered, taking a sip.

Ana shook her head. “I didn’t particularly think it any of her business. And rehashing it all hardly changes anything.”

He nodded. “I’ll admit, I didn’t see what good it would do. But I’m surprised you felt similarly. I would have thought–”

“That I’d relish the opportunity to drag your name through the mud?” she suggested.

He grimaced. “You’d have reason to.”

She looked at him for a long moment. He seemed sincere, as if he truly did regret it. Which, of course, didn’t absolve him of anything. It didn’t take away the young lives wasted or the scars on her face and back and the months she lost in solitary as punishment; it didn’t erase the nightmares that plagued her long afterwards, filled with frightened apprentices and endless Circles where every Templar wore his face, no matter how many times she reshaped the Fade. It didn’t change the fact that if she hadn’t intervened when she had, he would have struck down two innocent apprentices unlucky enough to be caught out of bed by a traumatised young man certain that every mage was a maleficarum or abomination in disguise. Or the fact that she would never know what happened to them after they were spirited away because she’d been locked up for trying to protect them.

It didn’t change the fact he would have killed her if her first instinct hadn’t been to fight back.

And yet… he’d left the Templar Order, had acted against his former brothers-in-arms (however begrudgingly) for the good of the Inquisition, and now it was clear he was giving up the one thing that both protected him from a mage’s power, and in turn made him a greater danger to any mage.

Forgiveness was a hard ask – but a chance to earn it? In the quiet of Cullen’s office, it seemed more within reach than it had, even a few days ago.

“What Uldred did,” she began, and Cullen started, glancing up towards her, “was monstrous. No desire for freedom or autonomy can ever justify his actions or the damage he did, and I certainly don’t blame you for not coming out of it unscathed. We can’t erase the past. I may not like the person you became or the things you did, either in Kinloch or Kirkwall, but I’ve had too many second chances myself to deny anyone the hope of a fresh start. You joined the Inquisition to be something better and to make amends and I can respect that. I can’t promise we’ll ever be anything like friends, but I certainly don’t want to drive you out – or see you leave when you still have so much to make up for.”

Cullen just stared, his face taking on the visage of a newly-caught guppy. It was oddly satisfying.

“I… that wasn’t the answer I was expecting.”

Ana shrugged, then instantly regretted it as her shoulder twinged. She reached up to rub it through her shirt.

“Yes, well, ‘unexpected’ seems to be the theme of the last few months,” she remarked wryly, straightening up and immediately feeling the stiffness in her legs and back. Maker, she was more tired than she realised. “Are you taking anything? For the symptoms, I mean?”

Cullen rubbed the back of his neck, giving a half-nod.

“Embrium for the headaches, though it doesn’t do much.”

Ana snorted. “It wouldn’t. Oakmoss is better for lyrium headaches. Any other symptoms? Insomnia, joint pain?”

“Uh, yes.” Perhaps for the first time in their conversation, Cullen actually looked a little nervous.

She nodded, already taking a mental inventory of what was growing in the herb garden as well as what had already been cut and dried for use.

“I’ve a few things that should help take the edge off. It won’t get rid of the symptoms entirely and any more individual effects of withdrawal – nightmares, cravings, so on – will still need to be dealt with. But if you give me a few days, I can have some options for you to try – if you like?”

“That isn’t–”

“Cullen,” she interrupted, turning to give him a level stare. “You said yourself, the Inquisition needs us at our best. I’m the best person to handle this, especially if you’re wanting to keep this discreet.”

He rose an eyebrow at that. “You aren’t going to tell your sister?”

“No,” Ana assured him, mentally adding _it’s not like we’re talking at the moment anyway_. “This is your choice, not mine. Personally, I think you should – but again, that’s not my call to make. At least as long as you’re able to continue.”

“And if I can’t?”

“Then I imagine we’ll cross that bridge if and when we get to it. Now,” she said, reaching over to pick up her cloak from off the desk, “it’s late and I’ve no doubt that despite everything, you’re still probably going to drag yourself out of bed at the crack of dawn as usual, so I’d advise if you can, get some sleep.”

She pulled the cloak over her, wincing again as her shoulder throbbed. She’d need to put more balm on it – or better still, see if she could grovel to Orsino or Alexius and get them to do it for her. She really had been awful to them earlier. And then there was Lia…

Maker, it was a mess. _She_ was a mess.

Shaking her head and resolving that a good night’s sleep might be the best thing for her state of mind as well as Cullen’s, she looked over at Runa, who looked half-asleep, slumped against the side of Cullen’s chair, the Commander still idly stroking fingers through her fur with a look that was equal parts exhausted, befuddled, and fond. As if sensing her look, Runa pried open a bleary eye and whined softly.

_Traitor_ , Ana thought with a tiny smile.

“Alright, you can stay. But if you’re not around for breakfast you’ll need to eat with the kennel hounds,” she warned.

Runa huffed as if in agreement, then returned to her previous task of becoming a dead weight against the Commander’s leg.

“Sleep well, Commander.”

Cullen shook his head, the quiet chuckle still tired but lighter than it had been.

“Likewise, Enchanter. And thank you,” he added, expression solemn, “for… everything. Truly.”

She nodded, and let herself out, sucking a breath through her teeth at the sudden chill after the warmth of the office.

It was late, and there was a warm bed waiting for her. Everything else was a problem for tomorrow.


	18. "You don't see it?" (Gen)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt 18: "You don't see it?"  
> Characters/Ship: Leliana; Josephine Montilyet [implied Josephine/OC]  
> Rating: Gen  
> Warnings: None

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Follows from Day 17.

“Josie? A word, if you’re free?”

The Ambassador raised an eyebrow at Leliana, but nodded, halting in her steps to follow Commander Cullen out of the War Room. She turned, pulling the door closed instead before returning to the table, setting her small stack of papers and notes to one side.

“Of course. Is everything alright?”

Leliana narrowed her eyes, still thinking over the meeting. On the surface, everything had seemed fine – following their apparent altercation after the dragon hunt the other day, the Inquisitor and her sister seemed perfectly civil to one another. No raised voices, snide remarks, nothing. Perhaps to a less-studious eye, it would seem the matter of disagreement had been resolved. But if Leliana had learned anything, it was never to trust appearances – especially when the women in question were amongst the most stubborn individuals she’d ever met.

Sometimes, they reminded her of Alim, although whether either the sisters or the Grey Warden would take that as a compliment was more uncertain.

“Given Enchanter Ana is intending to work from Skyhold for the time being, I’m in the process of delegating some of our research teams to her guidance,” Leliana said, keeping her suspicions to herself for the moment. “Given her connections to Ferelden and the Circles, I wondered if it might be worth having her involved with approaching some of our allies there?”

Josephine nodded, her expression considering.

“Rumour has it that Ana made a number of powerful connections within the court while stationed there, and I imagine she’s certainly more accustomed to dealing with the likes of Lord Kildarn,” she agreed, her lips curling in a delicate grimace at the name.

Leliana gave a soft chuckle. “He’s still being a pain, I take it?”

“Quite,” came the arch reply, before Josephine continued, “but yes, I would be happy to let her lead on some of the more minor dealings we have – she may be more forthright than most, but her shrewdness would be an asset.”

“Good. I’ll arrange a meeting to discuss any matters to hand over.”

There was a pause as Leliana turned back to the table, gathering her own reports before Josephine’s voice broke the silence, quiet and surprisingly uncertain.

“Leliana, have you – did you notice anything… _odd_ , at the meeting today?”

The spymaster looked up to meet Josephine’s gaze. Her expression was tense, a fine line of worry creasing her brow.

Leliana hummed, then nodded.

“I suspect Ana’s decision to step back from field missions has not gone down as well as it looks,” she admitted, before giving Josephine a querying glance. “I’m surprised the Inquisitor hasn’t already spoken to you on the matter.”

Josephine – bless her – _blushed_.

“W-why would the Inquisitor speak to me about it?” she said quickly, words coming out in a high-pitched rush, her attention suddenly drawn to the obviously urgent matter of stacking and shuffling through the pile of papers next to her. “I imagine this would be something of a personal matter, and there are others that Lia is far more likely to hold in confidence.”

Leliana couldn’t hold back a quiet laugh.

“Oh, Josie. Do you really mean to tell me you don’t see it?”

“See what, exactly?” came the waspish reply.

Leliana’s smirk softened, a twinge of worry settling in her stomach. She’d seen Josephine handle admirers before – she’d played the Game long enough to know how to gently dissuade an over-enthusiastic suitor or play coy long enough to get what she needed from them before pulling back without bruising egos. Lavellan’s crush was hardly a secret, but Leliana was starting to suspect the matter wasn’t as one-sided as it initially appeared.

“Nothing,” she replied after a moment, shaking her head. “Perhaps I was mistaken.”

Josephine’s look was suspicious, but she didn’t press the matter any further and after confirming the details of what work needed to be addressed, they parted ways, Josephine back to her desk and Leliana to the rookery.

There was a letter waiting for her when she arrived, the hand familiar and fondly remembered. After checking on her other reports, Leliana took the letter out to the walkway overlooking the gardens.

  
  


_Hope you’re doing better than I am, Nightingale. The Anderfels are grimmer than my cooking. Zev’s keeping a brave face on things, but I’m pretty sure it’s wearing on him more than he’s letting on. He never does complain, even when he has right to._

_I’ve included some notes on what I’ve learned of Adamant, and this Blackwall you were asking about. I think you’re right, something doesn’t quite add up from what he’s said, but then again, it’s not like my fellow Wardens to be particularly forthcoming with the truth. He might simply be holding his tongue, but I trust your instincts._

_Tell Loghain to cheer up, the grumpy sod. Can’t let a silly old Calling and the potential end of the world get you down._

_Also, how in the Maker’s hairy balls do I spend the last ten years looking for another Dreamer and you find two? Try not to let them slip off before I get back._

_(And I will be back. I’m too old and stubborn to die off now.)_

_Stay safe. Smack Cullen for me. Don’t let the bastards get you down._

_Dog says hi, by the way._

_Alim_

  
  


Leliana took a breath against the sudden ache in her chest, a deep and profound pang of something cold and lonely and lost that she’d buried for far too long. While she knew it was better that Alim and Zevran weren’t here, weren’t facing the threat of Corypheus and his plans, it did little to ease the fact she deeply missed her friends.

She briefly glanced over the information sent – old blueprints of Adamant’s construction, and some records of Gordon Blackwall’s service (likely taken from Weisshaupt’s archives without permission, if she knew Alim. She tucked the papers away in her pocket for further inspection later. The letter she folded carefully and slipped it into the hidden sleeve in her glove for safekeeping.

Alim was tough, smarter than most and resolute as a rock. With Zevran at his side, she could trust if there was a cure for the Calling, he would be the first to find it. He did not need her to watch over him, although if she found any worthwhile information, she’d certainly send it forward. But for now, her attention was better spent here.

There was a gentle flurry of movement below, and Leliana focused on the garden, watching as a figure – Lavellan – emerged from below the walkway, approaching where Mother Giselle lingered by the herb gardens. From this distance, it was impossible to hear their conversation, but the Inquisitor’s expression was unmistakably distressed.

Leliana’s eyes narrowed.

She might not be able to help her friend face the Blight, but she could look out for those friends she had here. Perhaps it was time to speak to the Inquisitor about her _intentions_ towards Josie. And after that, she’d speak with Enchanter Ana – if there was a problem at the heart of the Inquisition, she would see it dealt with. One way or another.


	19. "You better leave now." (Alexius/Orsino/OC)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt 19: "You better leave now."  
> Characters/Ship: Alexius; Ana Faber; Orsino; Cassandra Pentaghast [Alexius/Orsino/OC]  
> Rating: Teen  
> Warnings: discussions about Tranquility, angst

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Set soon after ‘Promise of Destruction’. I never felt entirely happy with Cassandra’s plans regarding reversing Tranquility, and I wanted to explore reactions to that.

Alexius had been vaguely aware of some kind of heated discussion beyond the door of his research room, an ebb and flow of muffled words that he had mostly tuned out to focus on the report currently on his desk. Heated academic debates were a favoured past-time back in the Magisterium, and you eventually learned that not every argument needed attention – in fact, many required the opposite.

It was only when he realised one of the voices was Orsino’s that his attention turned sharply to the echoing volley of words steadily rising in heat and volume.

He rose, yanking the door open just as he spotted Ana, a blur of red and black darting out from the steps to the rookery. Her pale eyes met his, her expression grim before she made her way to the stairs heading down to the main floor. After only a moment’s hesitation, Alexius followed, the spymaster’s watching eyes be damned.

The elven hedge-mage was missing from his usual haunt, and so the only people down there, when they arrived, were Orsino and Seeker Cassandra. Both were flushed with anger but it was the former First Enchanter that drew Alexius’ concern. His lips were curled in a snarl, his hands clenched white against his dark robes, and the air was thick with barely restrained magic.

Orsino wasn’t simply angry. He was _furious_.

“What is the meaning of this?” Ana demanded.

“Enchanter Orsino is under the misapprehension that I am here to be commanded,” Seeker Cassandra bit out through clenched teeth.

Orsino’s eyes flashed.

“The only misapprehension I was under was the mistaken belief that the Inquisition intends to be any better than the Templars! But you’ve certainly cleared me of that, Seeker, have no doubt.” He swung around, expression grim. “Did you know the Seekers know how to reverse Tranquillity? That they have _always_ known?!”

Alexius frowned deeply at that. “It’s been believed to be theoretically possible. But how would it even be done?”

“That is none of your concern, Tevinter,” the Seeker replied sharply, her glare daring him to challenge the matter.

Thankfully, he didn’t have to.

“It is entirely his concern,” Ana shot back, “just as it is the concern of every mage and Tranquil in the Inquisition – beyond, even! Why was this kept secret?”

“Because they need something to hang over our heads to ensure we behave, the same as the Templars have always done!”

Alexius felt as much as saw the sharp flare in Orsino’s temper, the air turning thick with static and tiny cracks of lightning skittering over his clenched fists. Seeker Cassandra noticed as well, her hand reaching for the sword at her side and in a moment, Ana was between them, facing down the Seeker. It would look almost comical – Orsino and Cassandra were almost even in height while Ana at least half a head shorter than both – but for the grim set of her expression.

For a moment there was a stalemate, and Alexius stepped towards Orsino. He laid a hand on his arm, feeling the sharp prickle of electricity against his skin as he applied gentle pressure, a reminder that this was not the time or place for this battle.

“Amatus,” he murmured, keeping his voice low. Maker knew how many upstairs had stopped to watch the theatrics, the last thing they needed was their personal affairs being thrown into the mix.

He saw the muscle in Orsino’s jaw jump, the glassy look in his eyes, and thought for a moment he might not heed sense, before the arm under his hold eased, and the tension in the air dissipated. Holding back a sigh of relief, he turned back to the Seeker.

Her lips were a flat, thin line on her face, but she gave an almost imperceptible nod, her hand coming away from her sword.

“I discussed the matter with the Inquisitor and she agreed that for now, testing the ritual was too dangerous. I am sorry that it has to be this way, but I cannot risk the safety of our people at Skyhold, either if the ritual fails or if it works and the mages in question prove… unstable.”

The words hung heavy in the quiet. Orsino turned, shaking off Alexius’ hold and taking a few steps away, scrubbing a hand over his face, while Ana gave a derisive snort.

“And you had the audacity to talk to me about _trust_ ,” she spat, the venom in her voice palpable. “I think, Seeker, you better leave now – but this will not be the last on this.”

It looked for a moment like Seeker Cassandra wanted to argue the point – Alexius imagined she did – but she was still a soldier and she likely knew a lost cause when she saw one. She gave a short, sharp nod and turned away, marching back towards the door leading out to the battlements.

The door slammed, echoing around the room.

Orsino let out a shaky breath.

“I think I’m going to get some air,” he said quickly, before turning and striding towards the other door.

“Love, wait…!” But even as Ana moved to follow, the other elf was through the door and gone. She stopped, frozen in place.

It took a moment for Alexius to realise she was shaking. He hesitated, wanting to reach out, to offer comfort, to… _something_. But he could feel the eyes above them and he wouldn’t, _couldn’t_ add another complication. Not now.

He guided them back upstairs, back to his research room – Maker’s grace that Dorian wasn’t in his usual spot, he wasn’t sure he could contend with his indignation in top of everything else.

The moment the door was closed, Ana’s unassailable composure finally snapped.

“ _Fenedhis_! The bastards, the fucking soulless _bastards_!” she snarled, stalking across the small room, only to turn on her heel and return the way she had come. “They knew! This whole time, they knew and they just… let people be… let the Templars just…”

Ana cursed again, a jumble of Common and Tevene that seemed to build until she buried her face in her hands with a muted cry of rage.

Slowly, Alexius approached, setting his hands on her shoulders before gently pulling her forward, folding her against his chest, his heart feeling close to breaking as her breath turned into quiet sobs.

“I know, amata. I know.”

Did he though? He could wonder at that. The notion of Tranquillity alone filled him with a level of disgust he wasn’t sure could be measured; the concept so alien from his upbringing that he still struggled to imagine how it was applied with such regularity in the South. It could happen back in the Imperium, of course, in very specific cases, but the notion was always treated with a considerable amount of distaste and reluctance, for fear of sparking a revolt. He couldn’t imagine living with the threat of it overhead on a daily basis.

And Orsino… He’d seen him lose his temper only once before, back before all of this, when he’d still served the Elder One. Orsino had accused him of preying on the rebel mages’ desperation, of fuelling their fears of Templars marching over the horizon, and at the time, he had been right. He had needed their numbers to bolster the Venatori and he had hoped to draw the attention of the so-called Herald. He’d been desperate himself, ready to do anything.

Now, he had a clearer mind and a better insight into exactly what Orsino and his brethren had been so fearful of.

He tightened his hold on the woman in his arms, trying to drown out the cold chill of remorse – and fear.


	20. "Give me a minute or an hour." (Josephine/OC)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt 20: "Give me a minute or an hour."  
> Characters/Ship: Josephine Montilyet; Lia Lavellan [Josephine/OC]  
> Rating: Gen  
> Warnings: none

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Follows on from Orsino and Cassandra’s confrontation in Day 19, and from the incident with the dragon hunt in Days 15-16.

For the second time in a matter of days, Josephine found herself on the verge of leaving the War Room when a quiet voice called her back. This time, however, the voice belonged to Inquisitor Lia Lavellan, rather than Leliana.

She hesitated. The meeting had gone on significantly longer than originally planned – for _several_ reasons – and she had no shortage of work to be getting on with. And yet…

“Give me a minute or an hour,” Lia almost pleaded. “I just… I could use your advice on something. Then I’ll be out of your hair, I promise.”

It was that last part that swung her. In the short time they’d known one another, Josephine could count on one hand the number of times Lia had asked for help for herself. And they were friends… of a sort. And she, of course, did not look for more, that would be _ridiculous_. As a friend it would be… ungracious, impolite even, to refuse.

“Of course,” she replied with a smile, gesturing to the door. “Where would you like to go?”

There weren’t many spots for privacy in Skyhold – the battlements were always busy with patrols or agents, the courtyard with merchants and visitors. It made sense, then, to retreat to the Inquisitor’s personal chambers. Josephine had visited Lia in her quarters before – sitting with her on the settee to discuss their dealings with the nobility or taking a moment to breathe on the balcony overlooking the Frostbacks. The view was quite beautiful, even for being so remote, and Lia was nothing if not an avid listener.

Now, however, it was her turn to listen.

“That was a complete shambles, wasn’t it?” Lia asked, leaning back against the balcony wall and pressing the heels of her palms against her closed eyelids. Josephine didn’t have to ask her to clarify what she meant.

She’d caught rumours of an argument between Seeker Cassandra and First Enchanter Orsino, along with Enchanter Ana and, surprisingly, former Magister Alexius, after the latter had apparently learned of Cassandra’s findings at Caer Oswin. It was unsurprising, of course, and Josephine had felt it inevitable at the time – secrets rarely stayed so for long, and their mage allies would naturally be suspicious if it came to light that the Inquisition held knowledge of a cure for Tranquillity and had hidden it from them. But Lia had opted to trust Cassandra’s judgement on the matter, and left the matter with her to handle – a plan she seemed content to continue, regardless of the change in circumstance.

Enchanter Ana, it turned out, had different ideas.

“I’ll admit, I don’t believe I’ve seen your sister _quite_ so irate before, but I think I can understand her reasons,” Josephine said.

Lia groaned, her hands dropping to her sides. “I just – Cass seems to know what she’s talking about. She’s seen what can happen when things like this go wrong, more than I have at any rate. I don’t see why Ana can’t trust that she’s trying to do the right thing.”

Josephine pursed her lips slightly.

“I doubt she assumes that Seeker Cassandra is trying to trick anyone,” she replied carefully, “or that there is ill intent behind keeping this matter quiet. However, she is in an awkward place and has to be seen trying to resolve the matter.”

Lia raised an eyebrow at that. “How d’you mean?”

“I mean that Ana has a not insignificant reputation amongst the mages, both as your arcane advisor and as a Senior Enchanter of the Circles before they fell,” she explained, turning to stand beside Lia, her back to the mountains beyond. “Even without taking into account her personal ties, she has been working towards greater rights and freedoms for both mages and elves for the better part of the last ten years. If she stood aside now and let this matter pass without comment, there are many who would assume her loyalty to you is greater than her loyalty to her fellow mages, and her reputation would undoubtedly suffer.”

“But we’re family.” Lia’s confusion was obvious, another reminder of just how different their worlds were. Of course, she wouldn’t see the matter with it – in some ways, Josephine hoped she never would.

She shook her head, trying to clear her thoughts.

“I’m afraid our allies are unlikely to be forgiving on that count.”

“So, what? This is all just down to politics?” Lia demanded, looking almost insulted.

“Not entirely, but one man’s politics is another’s life and liberty. The matter may seem a low priority to many, but I imagine there are few mages who would feel the same way.” Josephine paused, letting the words settle before continuing, “Besides, I have a suspicion that there’s a deeper issue here that needs addressing – particularly, the matter between you and your sister.”

Lia froze, guilt flitting across her features.

After her conversation with Leliana, Josephine had found herself going back over previous meetings, and watching more carefully in others. Something was definitely off – the sisters were both ridiculously stubborn and usually on different ends of certain matters, meaning every meeting often became a back and forth between the two until some compromise could be reached. But since the dragon hunt and Enchanter Ana’s injury, the usual repartee had been missing, with Ana acquiescing more than demanding and Lia left off-kilter by the change in dynamic.

For all the dramatics, this morning’s meeting had been almost a welcome return to normal.

Lia still hadn’t replied, eyes downcast and chewing reflexively on her lower lip. Josephine frowned, and in a moment of daring, laid her hand over Lia’s against the balcony wall.

“You asked for my advice,” she said softly, allowing herself to briefly squeeze Lia’s hand before pulling back, remembering propriety. “I’m happy to listen and help if I can, but I’m afraid I need you to tell me what happened.”

Lia turned to look at her, expression torn. From this close, Josephine could pick out all the stunning shades of green in her eyes, from jade to peridot to emerald, and see the rough texture of her lower lip where she’d bitten it raw. The urge to reach out, brush her thumb against the line of her brow, press her lips to that reddened mouth, rose up suddenly and with a ferocity that alarmed her more than she cared to admit.

She tore her gaze away, turning to face the mountains and letting the breeze cool her suddenly warm cheeks.

Behind her, Lia sighed.

“Ana got hurt because of me – during the fight with that dragon. She blames me for it and that’s why she stepped back from field missions.”

The words came out in a rush, like they had been held back for too long. Josephine frowned as she considered them.

After a moment, she glanced back over her shoulder, taking in the dejected hunch of the other woman’s shoulders.

“Did she say that?”

Lia gave an unladylike snort. “She didn’t have to. I might not have the most social graces, but I can read between the lines.”

“I don’t know about that,” Josephine admitted with a small smile. “Madame Vivienne appears to be quite happy with your progress so far.”

She expected a laugh, at least, but Lia only bit her lip again, her cheeks taking a dusting of colour.

“Uh, yeah. She… mentioned that.”

_That was interesting_. Josephine made a mental note to pull on that particular thread later.

“Besides,” she continued on, “I mentioned your sister’s reputation? I should also note that that reputation involves rarely letting grievances and insults lie. Can you truly say you think your sister would not have told you to your face if she believed you had put her in harm’s way unnecessarily?”

“I…” Lia started but trailed off, a frown pulling at her features as she thought about it. She straightened up, turning her head to meet Josephine’s eyes. “No, I suppose not.”

Josephine let her smile broaden, triumphant.

“In which case, I suspect the matter may be somewhat simpler than you think.”

Lia turned, leaning forward to rest her elbows against the wall and raising a curious eyebrow at her.

“Oh? Do tell.”

“You remember when I told you that the majority of negotiation comes from finding common ground, yes?” She paused, waiting until Lia nodded her affirmative. “I believe the matter here is less about where the two of you differ, and more about how similar you are.”

Lia’s expression turned sceptical. “This better not turn into a twin joke. Trust me, I have heard them all – twice, at least, and I’m pretty sure Bull’s trying to come up with new ones.”

Josephine laughed.

“No, nothing like that,” she assured her, then regarded her with a gentle look. “You never ask for help, at least not for yourself, and you manage to give off this impression of someone who never needs to. It’s very convincing, I must admit, but I hope I am not too forward in saying I think you’ve allowed me to see that that’s not the case.”

Lia stared at her for a moment before she dropped her gaze, looking out towards the mountains with an embarrassed laugh and blush-stained cheeks.

“I… no, you’re not wrong there. I – I think you’re probably one of the only people I’ve spoken to about–” she waved a hand in front of her, gesturing around them, “–all of it.”

Josephine clamped down on a ridiculously giddy smile as the admission sent a thrill of something warm and exhilarating through her. After taking a moment to compose herself, she nodded.

“I suspect, for all the differences your lives took, that your sister is much the same. In fact, I wouldn’t be surprised if she felt she was the one at fault, rather than you.”

“But why would she think that? I’d have done exactly the same for her, she knows that,” Lia insisted.

“Does she?” Josephine countered quietly, biting the inside of her cheek as Lia frowned again.

A pause, and then, “I hope she does.”

Josephine sighed. “As to why, I’m afraid that’s something I don’t know enough to answer. But I sometimes find going into a difficult negotiation, showing a little vulnerability can help smooth out misunderstandings – maybe talking to your sister about your concerns might encourage her to discuss her own.”

“I see. I think,” Lia murmured, giving a vague nod. “I suppose it can’t hurt.”

Josephine smiled. “And worst comes to worst, I’m sure Skyhold’s big enough for the pair of you to keep avoiding each other like territorial cats.”

Lia snorted. “Don’t even joke,” she warned, but there was laughter in her voice.

Josephine smiled and then taking in the sun marching overhead, sighed.

“Work calls?” Lia said.

“I’m afraid so.”

Josephine pushed away from the balcony, reluctantly making her way back inside and towards the stairs. Why was it every time she was here, it became harder and harder to leave?

“Josephine?” Lia called from behind her, and she turned, one hand against the railing.

Lia hung back by the stained glass doors, expression sheepish.

“I just… thank you. I know you’re busy and this wasn’t that important but – it means a lot. To me, I mean,” she stammered, and even in the dimmer light of the room, it would be hard to miss her blushing or the warmth of her gaze.

Josephine felt her own cheeks warm, matching the rosy glow making a home inside her chest.

“Please, I… am happy to help. And I appreciate your trust,” she managed to reply. “I know it isn’t always easy.”

Lia shrugged, still smiling and for a long moment, it felt like they were held there, a soft, curious thing keeping them in place.

Josephine cleared her through, trying to shake herself out of it.

“I should go,” she repeated. “If you need anything…”

She let the words hang in the air. Lia’s smile grew.

“I will.”

And with that, Josephine forced herself to turn on her heel and make her way down the stairs before she – or Lia – could do anything… well, anything.

Oh, Leliana was _never_ going to let her forget this.


	21. "I trust you." (Gen)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt 21: "I trust you."  
> Characters/Ship: Ana Faber; Lia Lavallan  
> Rating: Gen  
> Warnings: family issues, miscommunication

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Follows on directly from Day 20.

Who decided to schedule a meeting first thing in the morning?

Ana made her way down the Great Hall towards the War Room, still rubbing sleep from her eyes. She wasn’t a morning person at the best of times, and with everything else going on, her dreams weren’t exactly restful at the moment. Neither were Orsino’s it seemed – he was awake earlier and earlier over the last few days, bruised shadows under his eyes, and while she knew better than to push him to talk, it didn’t make it any easier to watch. Alexius had been off as well, distant and hard to read. She was even less certain how to approach him – if Orsino had been in a better mind, she might have asked his opinion, but now…

She shook her head, only glancing up as she entered Josephine’s office to note the empty desk. Damn, they’d already started. Still, if they’d expected her to show up without the aid of the sinfully sweet cup of Antivan coffee in her hand, they were sorely mistaken.

Stack of reports in one arm, coffee in the other, she was somewhat relieved to see the left of the large doors to the War Room had been held ajar by one of the heavy wooden chairs (kept for whenever meetings ran several hours long). While the massive double doors were rarely used – the smaller inset door being more than sufficient for their needs – it meant she had plenty of room to slip past the chair and inside. On entering, she scanned the room, noting to her surprise that only Lia had shown up yet.

“Morning,” she greeted evenly.

Lia looked up from the report she’d been peering at on the table and gave her a nod, her smile tight.

“Morning,” came the stiff reply.

Ana frowned, but said nothing more, walking to the other end of the table and setting down her things. What else was there to say at this point? Every discussion they had these days either ended in blazing arguments or tense silence. Best then to say nothing at all.

The mornings were getting cooler now, and despite all promises to the contrary, the hole in the corridor still hadn’t been fixed. A frigid gust of wind chose that moment to remind Ana of that fact as it swept through the room, rifling the papers resting on the table and tugging at the edges of her thick woollen robes. Ana glanced back across the table at her sister, who seemed otherwise oblivious to the chill, despite only wearing a light cotton shirt and leather breeches.

“Do you mind if I…?” She gestured towards the door.

Lia shrugged.

“Sure. Was like that when I got here anyway.”

With a nod, Ana went back over to the door, picking the chair up carefully to avoid scraping it against the floor. She turned to tuck it back in its usual place by the wall when the door swung closed behind her with a surprising _thud_.

And, more ominously, a quiet but pronounced _click_. Like a mechanism falling into place.

Ana glanced over only to find Lia already looking at her, eyes wide. In a moment, she’d dropped the chair with a clatter and the pair of them were at the door, tugging on the latch on the smaller door inset into the larger double doors.

It was stuck. Or locked.

“Shit,” Lia hissed, stepping back from the doorway while Ana continued to tug uselessly on the handle. She reached up from the old brass handle for the main doors, pulling on that too, but whether the door was simply too heavy or it had jammed as well, it still didn’t move – even when they both tried.

“Damn it, this is _not_ what I need today!” Ana growled under her breath, turning from the door with her hands on her hips.

Behind her, Lia sighed.

“I’m sure it’s fine. The others should be along soon enough. Either they’ll be able to unlock it from the other side or they can find someone who can fix it.”

Ana gave a quiet huff, but relented, unable to really argue with her sister’s surprisingly sensible approach. She pressed her fingers to her temples, trying to stem the oncoming tension headache creeping behind her eyes. What she wouldn’t give for another hour or two in bed.

“And here I thought I was the one who didn’t have any patience,” Lia remarked, wandering back to her side of the table.

Ana glowered. “I haven’t been sleeping well.”

Lia at least had the decency to look a little chagrined, ducking her head to return to her reading.

In the quiet, Ana stood, eyes closed against the growing light peering through the windows. It didn’t help. The silence was oppressive, weighted with things unsaid, and it crawled under her skin like ants. With a snarl, she turned back to the door, studying it. There had to be a way to get this thing open short of blasting it off its hinges – which she could do if needed, but she doubted it would go down well.

“That eager to get away, huh?”

Lia’s voice was flat, her expression irritated as Ana glanced back over her shoulder.

Ana frowned. “I just need some air.”

“The windows still work,” Lia said, with a jerk of her head towards them. “But if you’d rather smash the door to splinters rather than spend another moment suffering my presence, please, don’t let me stop you.”

The urge to snap back rose in Ana’s throat, sharp like bile. She bit her tongue, forcing out a breath through her nose as she heard the hurt beneath the bitter words. She’d been trying to keep a better reign on her temper ever since the dragon hunt – Maker knew, Lia seemed to be the only one capable of getting on her last nerve, and with Cassandra’s warning still ringing in her ears, she just wanted to try and be less critical, to be supportive for once. Yet it seemed she couldn’t even do that right.

“I’ll open a window then,” she conceded, walking across the room to unlatch one of the latticed windows and pushing it open a crack. She stayed there a moment, bracing her palms against the rough stone sill.

“While you’re here, I did want to speak to you, actually,” Lia’s voice came from behind her, uncharacteristically tentative. “I’ve, uh, spoken to Cassandra about what happened. She’s not happy but I’ve told her I want to have some of the senior mages look into it, see if we can make sure it’s safe and maybe consider any potential side effects. I’m not agreeing to testing it yet, but it’s worth studying and I figured it might help calm any worries our allies have about our intentions.”

Ana turned, staring.

“What brought about the sudden change of heart?” she asked warily. “You seemed quite adamant last time that the matter was staying strictly with the Seeker.”

Lia’s lips pursed, and her gaze flicked to one side before meeting hers again.

“I’ll admit when Cassandra told me what she’d found, I didn’t really get what it meant – not to you, or any other mage. To be honest,” she sighed, shaking her head, “I figured Cassandra seemed to know more about it all than I did so I just… didn’t push back. I should have, and I’m sorry.”

It took a moment for Ana to process the words, and when she did, she still wasn’t entirely sure what to make of it.

“I– Thank you.”

Lia held her eye for a moment, offering a sheepish smile before her gaze turned considering.

“Also – about the whole ‘you stepping back’ thing–”

Ana immediately frowned.

“–I just want to say if it’s important to you, then – I want you to do whatever you need to do. But I just…” She hesitated, chewing her lip as she crossed her arms over her chest, eyes darting towards her uncertainly.

Ana waited for her to continue, watching as Lia seemed to steel herself, lifting her jaw to look her in the eye.

“You’d tell me, if I did something, right? If you felt I put you in harm’s way – with the dragon, I mean.”

For the second time in as many minutes, Ana stared at her sister. Why would she ask…?

The realisation hit along with a horrible, swooping sensation in the pit of her stomach. Lia had thought she’d stepped back because – what, she’d been hurt? Because she thought she blamed Lia? Had she, in her attempt to avoid making Lia feel like she didn’t trust her, convinced her of just that?

Maker, she was a _fucking idiot._

“No, it wasn’t you,” she replied carefully, and she made her way towards the table, leaning her hip against the wide ledge. “It was – me. Just me.”

Lia’s concerned frown dissipated a little but didn’t go away entirely.

“Tell me. Please?” she pleaded, eyes wide – funny, how that look was exactly the same as when they were little, even though they were now Fade green rather than the remembered pale blue. Funny, too, how she couldn’t find it in her to deny Lia anything when she looked at her like that, even after all these years.

Ana sighed, turning her head to look out the window.

“Cassandra – said something, on the way back. It struck a nerve, I suppose.” As Lia continued to aim that frankly deadly look at her, Ana felt her righteous indigence start to crumble, leaving only the feeling of being quite foolish. “She said I had acted as if I didn’t trust you, and if I couldn’t prevent it happening again, I should step aside.”

The following silence held for a moment before it shattered.

“She _what?!_ ” Lia practically screeched, and for a moment Ana wondered if Josephine might have made it back to her desk now, surely she’d have heard it. “Where the fuck does she think she gets to– for fuck’s sake, I’d have done exactly the same as you did, no questions asked. Creators, when I find her–”

“You’ll say nothing,” Ana interrupted firmly, already feeling on more solid ground as she tried to reign in Lia’s temper.

“But she–”

“Cassandra’s loyalty is to the mission, to the Inquisition, and to you,” Ana reminded her. Frowning, she added, “I might not always agree with her methods, but I respect her motivations. She saw something that might one day be a problem and she sought to address it. I… I should have spoken to you properly afterwards, rather than dropping it on you out of the blue and expecting you not to want answers.” She sighed, her lips curving in a wry smile. “I guess I’m sorry as well. I didn’t help matters.”

Lia stood, blinking for a moment before shaking her head, laughing quietly.

“We’re both bloody idiots, you know that?”

Ana hummed in agreement. She wasn’t wrong.

After a moment, Lia’s chuckles faded away. Looking back out of the window, she heard her sister walk around to her side of the table, the old wood creaking slightly as she jumped up to sit on the edge. Then with a sigh, Lia slumped to one side, her head landing heavily on Ana’s shoulder.

Ana leaned back, bracing herself against the sudden weight. At least it wasn’t her wounded shoulder.

“It wasn’t so much I wanted answers,” Lia murmured, her voice low enough that Ana imagined even if they weren’t alone, only she would hear. “I was scared shitless, to be brutally honest. Having you here, not having to worry all the time about making sure I don’t piss you off like with _literally_ everyone else, knowing that if I fuck up you’ll probably know how to fix it… it’s been nice. Like the old days.”

A sad sort of smile pulled at Ana’s lips. “I don’t know. You seemed to do okay for yourself after I left.”

Lia snorted. “Please. I got kicked out of three mercenary groups, had another bunch of folks set me up to take the fall for them, and when I did find people I thought I could count on – they stabbed me in the back. Literally. I have a scar and everything. So unless your version of ‘okay’ is overwhelming failure, I think I’m gonna have to disagree.”

“And _I_ think you never give yourself enough credit,” Ana replied, even as old guilt twisted in her chest. Lia could joke and brush off old hurts as much as she wanted, but one day, Ana was going to ask for _names_. She blinked rapidly, aware of the burning behind her eyes and she tried to clear her throat as she turned a little, pulling her arm behind her to wrap it over Lia’s shoulders.

“But I agree, I’ve… liked this. Getting another chance.”

Lia nodded against her shoulder but didn’t reply. The reason became obvious as Ana looked down to see her sister’s lips pressed tightly together, eyes glassy and bright. Resisting the urge to sniffle, Ana squeezed her arm a little tighter and Lia huffed out a wobbly laugh.

“Creators, look at us. Pair of old maids weeping in a locked room.”

“Maker knows what the others are going to think when they finally get here,” Ana agreed, then paused, thinking. “If they ever do. You know, I’m beginning to suspect someone did this on purpose. Leliana was trying to get me to talk to you earlier.”

Lia made a quizzical noise in the back of her throat. “Yeah, I spoke to Josephine too. She was saying the same thing.”

“I’m surprised Cullen wasn’t in on it.”

Lia barely smothered a cackle at that. “That man barely knows how to speak to his own family, I think he’d combust trying to sort our mess out.”

Ana snickered at that, shoulders shaking as it mingled with the relief of finally clearing the air and silencing the horrible, worried whispers in her mind until she was laughing out loud, both her and Lia’s merriment bouncing off of the stone walls and ceiling. It took several moments for them both to calm down, still breathing hard in the quiet.

“Ana?”

“Hmm?”

“I trust you.”

Ana closed her eyes, leaning down until her cheek rested against Lia’s crown and feeling the last of an old knot of worry and guilt finally loosen.

“I trust you too,” she replied.

“I know.”

They sat, silent, watching the play of colours across the mountains as the day brightened outside. Ana smiled.

“Now get up. My coffee’s going cold.”


	22. "Not interested, thank you." (Orsino/OC)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt 22: "Not interested, thank you."  
> Characters/Ship: Orsino; Ana Faber [Orsino/OC]  
> Rating: Gen  
> Warnings: Circle mage angst; survivor’s guilt

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Follows directly on from Day 21.

It was hard to shake off a lifetime spent looking over your shoulder.

The last few months had been… blissful, really, even as much as they had unsettled his expectations of what his life would become. Even after leaving Kirkwall and later, joining the rebel mages, Orsino had always kept one eye on those around him, waiting for a glimpse of that familiar armour, for the terrible, unforgettable sensation of a Templar’s abilities robbing him of his magic and strength. Joining the Inquisition was the first real moment in his long life where he had begun to see hope for a future where he – and other mages – no longer had to keep their guard up, where they might be able to just simply… _be_.

Now, it felt like he’d never left the Gallows. It felt like he was sat, waiting in his office for Meredith’s inevitable wrath to come blazing through his door (Maker knew she never did knock), demanding obedience and dispensing blame in the same breath.

He groaned quietly, pinching the bridge of his nose as his vision blurred out again – Maker, how many times had he tried to read this one page. Exhaustion tugged at him, his body begging for rest but he knew the minute he closed his eyes, he’d be back in the same horrible nightmare.

The night they’d fled. Except this time, there was no Champion to stand with them, no waiting boat to speed them away to foreign shores. Just Meredith’s madness, and death, and guilt.

He could tell Ana. She already suspected, judging by the looks she gave him when she thought he didn’t see her. She didn’t say anything, of course, knew him better than to try and pry the truth out of him, but he knew. But some small poisonous pride kept him quiet. Even if he asked for her help in banishing the shades that plagued his sleep, it would only be a temporary aid; they would still be waiting, watching for the next time he let his guard down.

Besides, what could he say? He was still angry at the Seeker for not revealing what she knew, and at the Inquisitor for being complicit in it. A spiteful little piece of him even wondered how much Ana was truly unaware of – she attended the War Council meetings after all, surely–

Orsino shook his head sharply, gritting his teeth against the throb in his temples. No, he wouldn’t think like that. Ana was just as furious as he had been – maybe more so, given her sister was implicated.

_She was never forced to agree to the Rite, though. She never had to live with that responsibility._

And that was as it should be, he reminded himself. He could only pray Ana was never forced to be in that position. Even if he could place blame for all of the mages who faced a Tranquil brand at Meredith’s feet, he had still been First Enchanter, and the guilt remained with him for not finding a way to stop her sooner.

He sat like that for several minutes, still and silent, fighting off the need for sleep and letting the quiet of the mage tower wash over him. When the knock at his door came, he nearly jumped out of his skin.

“Come in!”

The door swung open to reveal not an irate Knight-Commander, but Ana. She lingered by the doorway, smile tentative.

“May I come in?”

He blinked in surprise. Ana was formal as a general rule, but they’d rarely stood on ceremony with each other, and certainly not in recent months. With effort, he held back a curious frown and nodded.

“Of course,” he replied, trying (and likely failing) to sound more welcoming than he felt. “Is there something I can do for you?”

Ana stepped inside, pulling the door closed behind her before making her way over to his desk.

“Actually, it’s more about what I can do for you,” she said. There was a moment of hesitation before she went on. “I’ve spoken to L-the Inquisitor about what Seeker Cassandra found out. She’s agreed to allow research into this ritual – its limitations, how dangerous it is, and any side effects. I… thought you might like to know.”

Orsino gave her a steady stare for a moment, trying to consider his words.

“That’s… comforting, I suppose. Less so than if we had been told upfront, but I suppose any progress is better than none,” he replied carefully, keeping his tone as even as possible. Still, he could hear the bitterness in his tone and Ana could too, if the frown clouding her expression was anything to go by.

“My sister made a mistake, and she is trying to fix it,” she replied sharply. “She’s given me her word and I’ve accepted it.”

“And if I can’t?” he shot back, temper rising.

“Then accept mine!” Ana’s expression softened, even as her voice still echoed in the small room. “Please?”

Orsino bit the inside of his cheek, swallowing back whatever poorly thought-out retort was already on his tongue. He nodded, slowly and deliberately.

“Very well. I imagine Fiona will be happy to draw up a list of researchers, in that case.”

“Actually,” Ana began, “I was wondering if you’d consider being involved. Your expertise in the Fade would be–”

“Not interested, thank you,” he interrupted quickly, only just managing to force the words out past the swooping panic that had bloomed to life in his chest. In an effort to avoid letting her see his reaction, he turned back to the report on his desk, flipping through the pages with hands that shook ever so slightly.

“Now, if there’s nothing else you need, I suggest–”

Ana’s hands were there, resting against his own and stymieing their anxious flight. Orsino froze but didn’t look up.

“Amatus, please – talk to me.”

He trying to slip out of her grasp, but her hold was firm – not painful, but secure. An anchor, weighing him in place when the frantic thumping in his chest threatened to shatter him into a thousand pieces.

They stayed like that, Orsino fighting the urge to distance himself from the conversation, Ana holding him steady, waiting.

When he felt he could breathe without feeling like there was a druffalo sat on his chest, he licked his lips and spoke.

“There are… procedures to follow when a mage is made Tranquil,” he murmured, and his voice sounded hollow even to his own ears. “The rule is supposed to be that the Rite is only used on apprentices who are deemed – _unfit_ to complete their Harrowing. The matter is agreed between the Knight-Commander and First Enchanter of the Circle, and both sign a decree confirming that there was no other choice and it is sent off to the Chantry for their records.”

Orsino paused. Ana’s hands were still on his own, but she’d shifted her grip, her fingers now between his palms and the desk, her thumbs pressing absent circles against the back of his hand.

“You know all this,” he continued, still looking down, unseeing at the muddle of papers in front of him. “And you know that in Kirkwall, Meredith had a number of mages – full, Harrowed mages, who had committed no other crime that being unsatisfied with life in a cage – she ordered them to be made Tranquil. And she… I had to approve them. All of them.” A bitter, broken laugh forced its way out of his throat. “There wasn’t a single Tranquil mage in the Gallows that I didn’t sign for. Not _one_.”

He let the words hang in the air, damning him in the silence. He didn’t dare look up.

Still, when Ana’s hands left his own, it _hurt_. He sat, bereft and weighed down with grief and guilt and he barely registered her moving around the desk until she was beside him, hands resting on the sides of his head, urging him to look up–

“I swear if that bitch wasn’t dead already I’d rip her apart with my own hands,” Ana snarled, blinking back tears. “You didn’t have a choice, amatus, not a real one. If you hadn’t played along with Meredith’s games, she’d have come after you next and then there would have been no one to look after those who were left. It wasn’t your fault, love. It was _never_ your fault.”

Orsino squeezed his eyes shut, letting out a shaky breath as he allowed Ana to pull him in, wrapping her arms around his head and shoulders, body curled around him like a shield blocking out the rest of the world for a few precious moments. His hands rose, coming to rest against her hips, the soft wool cool against his palms.

“I want to see things made right, but I can’t – I _can’t_ be part of it,” he whispered, throat tight. “If it didn’t work, or if something went wrong… I’d have failed them all over again.”

Ana hummed, the sound vibrating in her chest and against his head as she ran gentle fingertips over his scalp.

“I don’t agree that you failed them, but I understand,” she said, pressing her lips against his crown for a brief second before pulling back. “I’ll speak to Fiona and ask her to draw up a list of candidates, in that case.”

He looked up at her, lips curved in a self-deprecating smile. “Thank you.”

She smiled back, and he noticed then that he didn’t seem to be the only one not resting well. Gingerly, he brought up his hand, drawing a thumb lightly just under the blue-purple shadow below her eye.

Before he could even ask, Ana shook her head, catching his hand to press a feather-light kiss against his palm.

“You know,” she said, “I think I’ve had enough of today. Care to join me in napping away the rest of the afternoon?”

Orsino couldn’t help the startled laugh that left him.

“It’s barely noon!”

“And?” she teased, raising one eyebrow. “I know for a fact you don’t have any classes today.”

He tried to give her a stern look, although he doubted it was terribly convincing.

“Please?” she asked, gaze soft.

And with that, his resolve crumbled. With a wry glance towards the abandoned paperwork – really, someone needed to tell Cullen his penmanship was atrocious – he stood and let Ana draw him away.


	23. "I'm not doing that again." (Iron Bull/Dorian)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt 23: "I'm not doing that again."  
> Characters/Ship: Varric Tethras; Lia Lavellan; Dorian Pavus; Iron Bull [Iron Bull/Dorian, pre-romance]  
> Rating: Gen  
> Warnings: none

“I’m _not_ doing that again!” Dorian exclaimed as he stormed into the Herald’s Rest, looking like a man who had started a fight with a bush and lost. Mud, twigs, even the odd leaf were stuck about his person, and if he could see his hair, he’d probably weep. With a huff, he pulled out an empty chair at the table and slumped into it with an air of profound defeat.

Varric exchanged a glance with her Inquisitorialness, who had been in the middle of an entertaining little anecdote that he _definitely_ wouldn’t be taking note of later. Getting only a bewildered shrug, he turned back to the ‘Vint, leaning back in his chair.

“So, I’m going to guess there’s a story here,” he prodded with amused interest.

Eyes closed with his head hanging over the back of the chair, Dorian only mustered up an exhausted groan.

Lia’s eyes glittered with mischief, and she gave Varric a conspiratorial wink.

“Let me guess,” she said, smirking. “A pack of rabid squirrels?”

Varric grinned. “No, no – not enough bite-marks. An unfortunate trebuchet accident, perhaps?”

“Really tiny dragons?”

“Not enough soot,” Varric replied, shaking his head. “And no bees either, so that rules Sera out.”

Lia’s face screwed up in thought, a finger resting contemplatively on her chin.

“Mugged by nugs?”

“Oh, I like that. Let me write that one down.”

“Apprentices,” Dorian muttered, groaning as he lifted his head again, his mouth twisting in dismay. “They’re monsters. The whole lot of them. Vicious little monsters.”

Varric barely held back a hearty laugh at that – both at the news and at the mental image of Dorian being overwhelmed by a pack of hyperactive kids.

“Not thinking of a future in teaching then?”

That got him a glare, but the effect was slightly ruined by the fleck of mud right above Dorian’s eyebrow. Varric snorted and Lia leaned over to pluck an errant twig out from behind his ear.

“You’ve got a little something, ah...” she paused, then gestured towards herself with an open hand, “ _everywhere_.”

Dorian gave a disgruntled huff, raising a hand to try and comb out the worst from his hair.

“Hardly surprising,” he muttered, coming back with a handful of leaves and other detritus.

“So what really happened then?” Varric asked, folding his arms over his chest expectantly.

“He got thrown around by a ten-year-old,” Bull chimed in, coming around from the other side of the bar and clapping the altus on the shoulder before taking the seat beside him. He shot a grin towards Varric and Lia. “Krem saw the whole thing. Took him nearly ten minutes to tell me without laughing.”

“How delightful,” Dorian spat, although if Varric didn’t know better he’d almost guess there was the hint of a smile under the woefully untamed moustache. “Shall I expect a new verse to that delightful ditty you lot bellow? Or perhaps a charming new nickname.”

“Nah. The song’s better short and sweet. Besides, I kinda like ‘Dorian’,” the Bull added with a wide smirk, glancing back at the ‘Vint. From this angle, Varric couldn’t see the qunari’s good eye, but whatever the look was, it was enough for Dorian’s eyebrows to raise for a brief moment, before the usual carefully-constructed mask slipped back into place.

But Varric saw it, that little glimpse of surprise and something a little warmer.

_Oh, now that’s interesting._

Dorian shook his head, leaning back in his chair once more – seemingly unaware (or pretending to be) of the fact that Bull’s heavy hand still rested across the back.

“Fine, fine – I’m sure your lieutenant did an appalling job of explaining the whole mess, so I’ll just have to set the record straight. Though I don’t suppose some kind soul would offer the wounded party a drink – preferably not that watered-down piss passing for ale?”

“I heard that!” Cabot’s grumbling reached them from behind the bar.

Lia eventually sweet-talked the surly barman and brought back a round of drinks, before Dorian finally regaled them with his misfortunes.

Apparently, Enchanter Ana had managed to sweet-talk Dorian into taking a lesson or two with some of the Circle apprentices they’d taken in when the rebel mages had joined up. There was no doubt a certain level of flattery regarding the superiority of Tevinter education (Bull snorted into his tankard at that) and when that failed, a ransom was held on several books Dorian had been looking for and a rather expensive hair oil that was shipped all the way from Marnas Pell. Finally, Dorian caved, agreeing to take a lesson showing a group of six apprentices some basic spell theory applications and other arcane mechanics that, frankly, made Varric’s head spin when the altus tried to explain them.

Apparently, the lesson had gone well – a little _too_ well, judging by the results of what was _intended_ to be a minor force manipulation technique, and resulted in throwing a grown man into a tree. And kids being kids, once one managed it, the rest of them had to have a go too.

“So there were six kids, but you ended up in the tree _seven_ times?” Varric managed through chuckling – which was better than Lia, who was curled up with her head on the table, shaking with laughter.

“Yes, yes – apparently one of them, Jeanette, I believe, decided she could do better and wanted another shot,” Dorian sighed, taking a swig of the apparently slightly more passable mead. “Honestly, it seemed easier to let them get it out of their systems and then make my escape.”

“Careful,” Bull warned, still smirking. “You almost sound like you liked it.”

Dorian’s expression softened, and he shrugged.

“I’d rather get attacked by rabid squirrels.”

Lia smothered another laugh, finally calm enough to slump back against her chair.

“You do realise you’re fucked, right?” she warned, grinning and flushed from laughter. “Now she’s gotten you to agree to it once, you’ll never be off the hook.”

“That sounds ominous,” Varric said, and Dorian sniffed indignantly.

“I’d like to see her try.”

“I dunno. Seems like she read you pretty easily,” Bull said before his smile turned sly. “Not that it’s hard.”

Dorian raised an eyebrow. “Is that so?” he demanded archly.

Bull didn’t look away, still smirking. “Yeah. It is.”

There was a moment during which the two men just stared the other down, and Varric and Lia exchanged looks.

With a wink of his own, Varric cleared his throat – _loudly_.

Dorian jumped, before clearly trying to look busy with his drink. Bull just turned his head, giving Varric what he guessed was as close as possible to a side-eye glare for someone with only one eye.

The dwarf just grinned right back at him, taking a drink from his cup.

_Too easy._


	24. "Watch me." (Alexius/Orsino/OC)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt 24: "Watch me."  
> Characters/Ship: Gereon Alexius; Lia Lavellan [Alexius/Orsino/OC]  
> Rating: Gen  
> Warnings: implied depression/self-loathing, mild references to canon-typical prejudices

Alexius hadn’t realised he was being watched, although perhaps in hindsight, he should only have been surprised it didn’t happen sooner.

The main library in Skyhold didn’t always have the most pertinent reading matter with regarding the majority of his research, but he did have cause from time to time to wander out from his research room to peruse the shelves for something a little more quotidian. Which always somehow managed to put him in the path of some young, hopelessly confused junior mage or apprentice and he inevitably ended up spending at least half an hour trying to provide some semblance of guidance while inwardly cursing the woeful education of the southern Circles.

(Obviously, he did his best to be discreet. Fiona had made it clear she would not tolerate any potential ‘corruption’ of their younger mage recruits and he respected her reasons well enough not to directly draw her ire – no matter how much it amused Orsino.)

So it was no surprise that while in search for a particular tome on experiments with entropy magic (his current work was providing results that were technically impossible and he suspected there was an influence of entropic energies to blame), he found himself advising a young man who looked on the verge of tearing his hair out over two contrary schools of thought regarding Fade manipulation. The lad was bright enough, wasted on the task really. With only a few subtle hints and suggestions, he had the young mage heading off with several different tomes that explained his dilemma in far more clarity, and a few pertinent questions that would likely flummox the Senior Enchanter who had sent the boy on his fool’s errand.

As the young man left and Alexius returned to the shelf, resuming his own search, he only barely noticed the footsteps approaching until a voice spoke up.

“Now that was impressive,” Inquisitor Lia Lavellan remarked. “Should I be warning the Grand Enchanter you’re slowly bribing her apprentices with books and forbidden arcane knowledge?”

Alexius glanced at the elven woman, who’d come to a stop, leaning against the bookshelf with her arms loosely folded and a vaguely amused expression. Not making a serious threat then.

“Hardly forbidden, Lady Inquisitor,” he replied, continuing to check the shelves. “A little more advanced, perhaps, but I loathe seeing potential wasted.”

“Careful. I might forget you once tried to erase me from existence with some of that advanced, totally-not-forbidden magic,” came the arch reply.

Alexius nodded. “Fair enough. I could apologise, though you’ve never particularly struck me as the type to give much value to words.”

“And you’d be quite right. Besides,” the Inquisitor added with a non-committal shrug, “given the number of people and things that have tried to kill me in the last month, at least you were polite about it. Y’know, instead of running with a sword screaming ‘die!’”

He chuckled, despite himself. Now that they were no longer on opposing sides, it was hard to deny the Inquisitor had a remarkably… _unique_ attitude towards her unlikely role as saviour of Thedas.

“All past and present murderous tendencies aside, I did actually have something I wanted to talk to you about – privately, if you’re available,” she said, tone suddenly holding an edge of solemnity, just as Alexius finally spotted the title he’d been searching for.

He froze halfway, the book in his hand.

“Ah. Of course,” he managed, gesturing towards his research room. “Just this way.”

It had to come to this eventually, he reasoned with himself as they made their way across the rotunda. He’d had a decent run of it, he supposed, but it was impossible to imagine the Inquisitor tolerating his presence at her sister’s side for much longer. And from what he knew of the sisters, Lia would never ask Ana to end it herself – better to approach him directly and have him do the decent thing. As he opened the door, allowing the Inquisitor to step inside, he entertained the idea of refusing her request, albeit briefly.

But no – if there was one thing he still knew the value of, it was family. He would not rob Ana of her sister’s trust. Not when he knew how much it meant to her.

It would mean an end to things with Orsino as well, a prospect that only made the sudden hollowness in his chest echo painfully. While the First Enchanter’s reputation was not on the one on the line, the connection was still there – besides, he would not be able to forgive himself if his continued presence caused a rift between them.

Lost in his own contemplations, he made his way to his desk, expecting the Inquisitor to take the seat opposite. Instead, Lia had wandered over to the bookshelves and cabinets lining one wall, peering at them with a curiosity that was at once familiar and jarring.

“I hope these didn’t need to be ordered in,” she said, tapping a calloused finger against the spines of several books. “I’m pretty sure Ana’s got most of these, if not a few more besides.”

Alexius felt his mouth curve in a wry smile. “You’re quite right – those are, in fact, from your sister’s collection. She indicated they might see more use here than in her own office.”

“Huh.” Another few moments passed, with the Inquisitor showing no indication of taking a seat and getting to the point of this little visit. “She’s left you quite a few things – I remember that little brass Veil thingum from Haven. And that set of focusing crystals.”

Alexius hummed in acknowledgement but didn’t reply. She was right, of course – there were no shortage of small odds and ends belonging to either Ana or Orsino that had managed to creep in here or his personal quarters. A cloak on the back of a door, a set of gloves for hands far smaller than his, books on a variety of subjects and notes, scraps of paper and ink and quiet, heartfelt words.

He wondered if he might be able to keep some of it all. Small talismans against whatever future was to come.

Both eager and dreading to have this over and done with, Alexius cleared his throat sharply.

“You mentioned wanting to speak to me?” he prompted.

“Hmm? Oh yes, that,” the Inquisitor murmured, finally turning back to him although, to his increasing unease, she refused to sit. Her expression turned calculating. “It’s about my sister, actually.”

“I see.”

She raised an eyebrow at him, studying him for a moment. He’d played his role in Tevinter politics enough that he knew better than to let his growing misery show, but he wondered for a moment if she saw it anyway, clear as the lines of his face.

After a moment, she sighed, shaking her head.

“Alright, I think it’s fair to say a few people know about your… relationship with Ana. Obviously, my advisors know, and by this point, I think the only one of my companions who hasn’t made the connection is Blackwall. And maybe Cole, but honestly who the fuck knows with him? Anyway, the point is – we know. And it’s caused some problems, but given you’ve been more than willing to tell us what you know and you’ve not given any signs of looking to stab anyone in the back, it’s – not fine, exactly, but it’s not the end of the world. But you’re still scurrying around like you’re up to something and I feel I need to ask – are you ashamed of her?”

Alexius stared for a moment, still processing the Inquisitor’s words. “I… I’m sorry. I don’t quite follow?”

The Inquisitor’s eyes hardened, her mouth a thin line as she stepped towards the desk, stopping directly in front of him.

“I said, are you ashamed of her?” she repeated, voice low and the complete opposite of her gentle teasing earlier. “She’s an elf, and by Tevinter law, laetan. Back in the Imperium, men like you didn’t give my sister the time of day unless there was something they wanted, and trust me, they tried. You’ve been held prisoner in the south for less than a year, perhaps long enough to lower your standards but not necessarily your sensibilities. So I need you to answer the question because I’ll be damned if I let my sister be used by someone who thinks she’s anything less than his equal.”

Alexius found him caught somewhere between relieved, insulted, and dismayed. Relieved because of all the ways he’d imagined this conversation going, this far and above even the best case scenario he’d envisioned. Insulted because while he knew he could hardly ask the woman in front of him to think well of him, this was a level below even what he’d expected. And dismayed, because… he’d never been ashamed of Ana or Orsino, the idea had never even crossed his minds. But he now was left wondering how many others saw his reticence to draw scrutiny on their relationship and assumed it down to shame and embarrassment on his part?

He frowned, meeting the Inquisitor’s steady stare with one of his own.

“I appreciate your concern, Lady Inquisitor, however, let me assure you – I am not now, nor have I _ever_ been _ashamed_ of my acquaintance with Enchanter Ana,” Alexius said, speaking slowly and carefully. “Your sister is a remarkable mage and woman, not regardless of her origins but perhaps because of them. And I do not believe for one moment she would tolerate the affections of anyone who did not recognise her worth.”

The Inquisitor’s face softened a little, a gentle nod and a flash of relief crossing her features.

“Then why hide?”

Alexius leaned back in his chair, lowering his gaze towards the dimming fire.

“I… suppose I wished to try and spare her – and Orsino – from any _unwanted_ assumptions about my involvement,” he admitted. “Both of them have worked too hard to be where they are, I would not have that work tainted by rumour and scandal.”

“My sister is more than capable of dealing with any blabbermouths, trust me,” the Inquisitor replied with an air of knowing, finally stepping back to flop into the empty chair behind her. “Have a little faith.”

Alexius gave a dry, humourless chuckle.

“That seemed to be a common request these days,” he said.

The Inquisitor looked at him quizzically. “Is it a difficult one?”

He sighed. “I’m afraid I’ve seen too much of what the Inquisition – what you – are fighting against. It’s hard to raise much hope in the face of that.”

“So you don’t put much stock in my chances then?” she replied, and for some reason, she seemed amused at the idea.

Alexius raised an eyebrow. “Do you think you can win against Corypheus?”

The Inquisitor looked at him for a long moment, and it seemed to him her smile turned as sharp as the knives she wielded and the look in her eyes reminded him of the big cats that would hunt deer amongst the northern plains of the Imperium, watching and waiting for their moment to strike.

“Just watch me and find out, Magister. Watch and find out.”


	25. "Do we have to?" (Gen)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt 25: "Do we have to?"  
> Characters/Ship: Josephine Montilyet; Ana Faber  
> Rating: Gen  
> Warnings: mentions of the purging of Halamshiral

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prior to joining the Inquisition, Ana was the Royal Enchanter in Queen Anora’s court. Hers was a tumultuous and unpopular appointment, not helped by her arrival heralding a number of changes in Anora’s rule leading to more scrutiny on the Ferelden Circles and greater support for the city elves. The two are still good friends, even after her departure.

“Do we have to?”

“Yes,” Josephine repeated for what felt like the three-hundredth time in a tone aiming somewhere between civil and murderous. “We do. The Winter Palace is approaching fast and these uniforms will need to be ready. Now _please_ , Sera, allow Messere Moreau to continue with his work.”

The young woman heaved herself up from her self-selected seat by the fireplace with an overly-dramatic groan and no small level of muttering, before shuffling back over to the stool where the tailor waited.

“Oui, mademoiselle, now if you could raise your arms just so – merci…” the poor man instructed, almost getting one of Sera’s arms smacked across his face for his trouble.

Josephine made a mental note to add a reasonable bonus to the man’s fees. He had come highly recommended for his excellent work and remarkable patience with… _unusual_ requests, but she was beginning to feel Messere Moreau might not have known quite what he was getting himself in for with the Inquisitor’s companions.

While Messere Moreau quickly went through his measurements and Sera griped and groaned her way through the entire process (with the occasional rude noise that pulled a scandalised “Sera!” from Josephine and an awkward chuckle from the tailor), Josephine checked her notes.

Dorian, Vivienne, Leliana and Ana were all accounted for – mercifully, all of them had their own tailors who were able to send over their measurements. Likewise, Varric, Blackwall, Solas and Cole had all been relatively painless, although Cole seemed to be somewhat confused about the concept of clothes and changing them, which Josephine had chosen not to think too carefully about. Cullen had done his best to evade her but she’d caught him under the pretence of discussing their chevalier recruits and locked the door until he agreed to stand for the tailor. Bull and Lia had returned earlier that morning after some sort of field exercise with the Chargers (Lia had offered to explain but the word ‘trebuchet’ had been involved and she’d declined any further explanation) but had promised to swing by her office that afternoon. And then there was Cassandra, who had so far managed to dodge her every attempt to ensnare her – that one might need to be a job for Leliana.

Still, it could have been worse. Far, _far_ worse. And once done, it would be one less task to cross off of her never-ending list of preparations.

At last, Messere Moreau announced that he had everything he needed and no sooner than the words were out of his mouth then Sera practically vaulted herself off of the stool and bounded out the door, sticking her tongue out as she went. Josephine sighed, thanked the man profusely for his professionalism and advised when she would next need him.

The door opened just as the tailor was departing, and Ana stepped to one side to allow the man through.

“I spotted Sera racing across the courtyard like an alley cat with a pack of mabari after her, so I’m going to assume her fitting went as well as expected,” the arcane advisor said by way of greeting. At her side, her own mabari gave a somewhat indignant whine, as if she resented the idea she would go racing after anything so lowly as a street cat.

Josephine shook her head, turning back towards her desk and setting her notes to one side.

“Quite. I can only hope the Inquisitor doesn’t have her in mind for their companions to the Winter Palace,” she admitted with a wry glance. “Please, take a seat.”

“Oh, I don’t know,” Ana replied with a smile, taking one of the chairs by the fireplace while Runa flopped against the carpet. “She’d certainly give the court something to talk about – and sometimes distraction is a better tool than subtlety.”

“A common tactic of yours?” Josephine replied with a knowing smile as she joined Ana by the fire. “Or Her Majesty’s?”

“Why not both?”

_Why not indeed?_ The handful of times Josephine had had the pleasure of meeting the Queen of Ferelden, Anora had struck her as a driven and resourceful woman with no shortage of tactics for achieving her goals. Qualities that she recognised easily in the woman across from her.

Which was exactly why she had asked to speak with her today.

“On the subject of the Winter Palace, how familiar are you with Empress Celene’s court?” Josephine asked. “I understand Anora had you accompany some of the delegations to the Imperial Palace prior to the civil war.”

Ana tilted her head, expression thoughtful. “I’m reasonably familiar with the major players – most of the Council of Heralds, and a few other notable families, although obviously, the exact workings change from season to season.”

“Of course,” Josephine agreed. It was about what she’d expected. “Did you have any cause to interact at all with her spymaster?”

“Briala?” Ana raised an eyebrow. “No, not particularly. Honestly, I barely saw her beyond a few glimpses – she’s mastered the art of not being seen in plain sight, which is not a bad talent for a spy to have.”

“No, it isn’t. Since the civil war, Briala has no longer been working for Celene, or for any other patron that I know of,” Josephine admitted. “From what I’ve been able to gather, she’s been organising many of the elves in Val Royeaux and beyond as an intelligence network.”

Ana’s expression didn’t change, but only a fool would have missed the way her eyes lit up at that.

“Oh? I imagine that’s not gone down well – though I’m not surprised, after Halamshiral,” she added with a note of disgust. “Ferelden has had problems with revolts in the alienages before, but Anora has always been able to resolve them peacefully. I can’t imagine her ever leading a _slaughter_ of her own citizens.”

“And I’m sure you had nothing to do with that state of affairs, of course,” Josephine said, giving her a pointed look. “There were always rumours about your particular influence at the Queen’s side.”

“There would be rumours regardless,” Ana replied with a dismissive wave.

Josephine gave her a level look. “As there were rumours regarding Briala’s influence over Celene.”

She saw Ana frown, considering her words, making the connection.

“Halamshiral?” she asked, in a voice that sounded like she didn’t want to know the answer.

Josephine nodded, and Ana swore quietly under her breath. She let the silence hang between them while Ana glared into the fireplace, one hand tapping irritably against the chair arm.

“Why exactly did you want to talk to me, Josephine?” she asked after a moment, and there was a wariness there that hadn’t been there before.

Josephine sighed.

“There has been some question about how Briala has managed all this, given her stepping away from the Empress’ side will have severely impacted the resources at her disposal,” she explained. “Leliana’s sources have managed to uncover rumour that Briala has found some sort of ancient Elvhen artefact which may be responsible. She reported it might be worthwhile to investigate the rumours to see if the Inquisition could make use of these relics as well.”

That earned a raised eyebrow. “So why are you approaching me about it and not Leliana?”

“Because Leliana believes it would be better to earn an alliance with Briala, and I am somewhat in agreement. I can recommend what the Inquisition can offer in return, and I believe she would be more receptive if you were the one to approach her at the Winter Palace.”

“Not my sister? She is the ‘dread Inquisitor’ after all.”

“And she has not been actively working towards greater rights and freedoms for city elves for the past ten years. You and Briala have far more in common, which should make negotiations smoother.”

Ana gave a nod, her expression considering.

“I’ll speak with Leliana – I’d like to know as much as possible about these potential relics before I approach Briala, not least to see if this is even worth our time,” she said after a moment, before looking Josephine in the eye. “But please be aware, I cannot in good conscience ask for an alliance with a group who have more to lose than we have to gain if we cannot offer them something of equivalent value in exchange. If I don’t believe the offer the Inquisition makes is fair to Briala or her people, I will not make it.”

Josephine blinked in surprise at the quiet vehemence in Ana’s voice, before her expression turned to one of wary curiosity.

“Are you always this distrusting of your own people?”

Ana smiled, but it was a cool, almost bitter thing.

“Always,” she said, turning back to the fire. “Another trait the Queen and I share.”


	26. "I told you so." (Iron Bull/Dorian)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt 26: "I told you so."  
> Characters/Ship: Iron Bull; Dorian Pavus; Ana Faber; Orsino [Iron Bull/Dorian; Orsino/OC]  
> Rating: Teen  
> Warnings: suggestive themes; sparring as foreplay

“I told you so.”

“Yes, yes,” Dorian griped, still nursing his shoulder. He rolled it back, wincing a little as he did so. “I’ll give the Enchanter this – she’s got a decent throw on her.”

Bull’s smile lingered, although he watched the mage’s careful movements, stretching out the injured limb. If it had been serious, he doubted Dorian would even be able to move the arm, let alone be joking about it, but he’d hit the ground of the training ring pretty hard. It had given him a tight twinge of concern, somewhere in his stomach, and he still wasn’t quite sure what to make of that.

Out loud, he said, “That’s what you get when you try to be flashy. Buttons doesn’t come to play.”

As if on cue, there was a thud and a groan, and they both turned back to the training ring to find Enchanter Ana standing victorious, covered in dust with her staff braced against the dirt while another unlucky mage pulled themselves to their feet and shambled off to the side of the ring.

“I think it might be a little difficult for our students to learn much about duelling if you keep knocking them to the ground within the first five minutes,” Orsino called out from Bull’s other side at the fence.

Buttons flashed him a toothy grin.

“And you also asked me not to pull any punches,” she crowed back, stepping back and giving her staff a twirl before raising it by her side in a battle-ready stance. “So how about you give me a _worthwhile_ fight?”

That got a few titters from the group at the ringside. The ‘lessons’ had been going for the better part of the morning with little sign of the Enchanter slowing and slowly but surely they’d gathered spectators. Krem had already stopped by three times already, along with Skinner and Dalish (who had, of course, declined the invitation to spar on account of ‘not being a mage’). Then there’d been the Boss, who’d had to be dragged off by Cullen to a meeting in the end, along with Cassandra, Blackwall and Sera, Varric and Hawke (who had also declined a fight, unless Ana agreed to get their respective mabari involved), and even Red had stopped by, watching from the edges of the group before wandering away again. Bull was pretty sure he’d also spotted Solas pausing in his morning wander over the battlements to take in the show.

Buttons was still pacing the ring in the way cocky young recruits did when their blood was up, and under other circumstances, Bull might have suggested that maybe she was going a little stir-crazy. But given the increasing taunts she was throwing the First Enchanter’s way, and the look in her eyes as she prowled the ring, he had a suspicion exactly what was going on.

Question was, would Orsino bite?

“You know,” Bull remarked to the elf at his side, “that almost sounded like a challenge.”

He glanced over, watching as Orsino’s mouth curled with a hint of a smile.

“Yes, I suppose it did,” he replied smoothly, before reaching for the buttons of his outer robe.

Bull turned back to the ring, grinning.

This was going to be fun.

He liked to think he had a pretty good grasp on how Buttons worked in a fight – she had raw power on her side, compared even to most mages, and she’d backed that up with a lot of training, both in magical and physical combat. She didn’t do stealth or subtlety, confident in her ability to overwhelm an enemy before they did any real damage – and if they did, she was a good enough healer to deal with most things. But so far, the only time Bull had seen Orsino in a fight was at Haven, flashes of lightning and fire, both precise and deadly. For a little guy, there was an edge about him, something hard and coiled tight that felt ready to snap if pushed, and Bull was curious to see what it would take to make the quiet-mannered mage cut loose a little.

Orsino made quick work of the robe, dressing down to shirt and breeches before joining Buttons in the ring, staff at the ready. An excitable murmur ran through some of the younger apprentices who’d been watching the morning’s activities.

“Worthwhile, you say? You might want to be careful what you wish for, Enchanter,” Orsino said, voice still low and steady as if he were taking a class, although any Ben-Hassrath could have picked out the daring note hidden in it.

At his side, Dorian leaned towards him and gave a low mock growl, and Bull chuckled.

“What, you never seen foreplay?” he murmured, low enough so only the altus could hear.

Dorian smirked, moustache curling upwards and his grey eyes turning a glorious molten silver.

“Oh, I’m not against a bit of rough-housing. Maybe less of an audience though.”

Bull gave him an appraising look, then shrugged. “Your loss.”

The mages squared up, Buttons stalking the ring like a great cat, all smooth lines and sweeping motion in black duelling leathers, while Orsino held steady, braced for the strike, waiting for her to throw the first hit and open up her guard. It came quickly, Buttons losing patience and striking out with shards of ice. Orsino side-stepped the initial volley, barrier up before the rest could hit true before with a gesture the hazy blue shield shattered outwards like glass, forcing Buttons to dodge back, bouncing on the balls of her feet.

From there, the fight picked up speed, Buttons throwing up a tangle of vines that were charred by magical flames before they even took root, before she had to dodge several quick-paced lightning spells that ended up firing off and scattering harmlessly against the battlement walls. Buttons struck, Orsino deflected, always seemed to be reacting but Bull noticed him closing in, backing Buttons into a corner and keeping her off-balance. She wasn’t hitting with her full power, any idiot could see that, but simple strength wasn’t the point – it was a test of wills and wits as much as anything else.

“They’re quite evenly matched,” Dorian noted after Buttons got a swipe in with her staff, nearly knocking Orsino off his feet and giving her room to dodge past him back into the centre of the ring.

“They know each other’s tells,” Bull said, briefly glancing down at Dorian’s studious expression before turning back to the fight. “It’s one of the drawbacks of sparring with people you know. You get familiar enough with them, it becomes less about observation and more about out-guessing them.”

“You like to watch then, I take it?” Dorian asked, his tone just innocent enough that Bull knew his question wasn’t. He gave a long, slow smile.

“Sometimes. Depends on the mood,” he replied, looking back down to catch Dorian’s eye. “Depends on who I’m _sparring_ with.”

Dorian’s chuckle was warm, velvety and dark like the rich cocoa Varric had smuggled him in. It sent a heated thrum through his blood.

“Well, I’d hate to look this pretty for nothing.”

There was a hint of promise in the curl of Dorian’s mouth, the quick glance he offered out of the side of his gaze before he made a point to turn back to the fight. An acknowledgement, really, of a dozen little exchanges over weeks and months, each with a little more heat behind them, a glimmer more insight into the prickly mage at his side and how exactly to pick him apart and put him back together again. And now he was giving Bull the biggest puzzle piece of all.

Out of the corner of his eye, there was a flurry of green energy and a grunt as Buttons hit the dirt. Bull turned back just in time to watch Orsino, sweating and panting and looking decidedly dishevelled, advanced, resting the butt of his staff against his opponent’s chest.

“ _Yield_ ,” he commanded, voice gravely with exertion and something else that had Bull suppressing a knowing smirk.

For her part, lying in the dust with her perfectly pinned hair now falling loose, scarlet strands sticking to the sweat on her temples and neck, Buttons looked like the cat that got the cream. She grinned for a long moment before replying with a breathy “Yield.”

Orsino pulled back, offering Buttons a hand up before turning back to the gathered apprentices, calling an end to the lesson with a few notes. Bull doubted most of the kids gathered recognised the heated look the pair shared as they cleared up the ring and departed back to the Keep.

“Well, that was entertaining.”

Bull hummed in agreement, his good eye flicking over towards the mage before he turned to look back out over the courtyard.

“Hey, maybe once that shoulder of yours is fixed up, we could try a little sparring match of our own,” he suggested casually. “If you don’t mind getting knocked on your ass again, anyway,” he added, lacing a little challenge in his tone.

“So sure of yourself,” Dorian drawled with a puffed-up little huff, taking the bait beautifully. “Alright. You have a deal.”

Bull grinned. Oh yeah, this was gonna be a _lot_ of fun.


	27. "I never wanted anything else." (Alexius/Orsino/OC)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt 27: "I never wanted anything else."  
> Characters/Ship: Ana Faber; Orsino; Gereon Alexius [Alexius/Orsino/OC]  
> Rating: Mature  
> Warnings: sexual themes; very (very) mild hints of D/s dynamic

There was, perhaps, some foundation to the speculation that mages from the Circles were all kinky perverts.

It was the clandestine nature of every fondle, tumble, and fling within a Circle’s walls. Whether your partner was a mage or a Templar, there was a need for discretion and keeping all the sordid details under wraps. When every act of intimacy was considered taboo, it became a lot harder to see the difference between getting caught with your hands down someone’s knickers, and getting caught dressed in leathers and tied to the bedposts. At least, that was always how Ana perceived it. For several reasons, she never took a lover in the Circles until she met Orsino, and even then they didn’t become intimate until after he’d left Kirkwall. Still, there were tales and rumours of the escapades her fellow mages got up to under the noses of their Templar guardians, and some tales always resonated more than others, giving her a better idea of what she might have liked with the right partner. Or partners.

She liked control. She liked to be instrumental to a lover’s pleasure but also be removed from it at the same time. She liked power, when willingly given, and she liked being trusted to know how much, how far to go. It didn’t mean she didn’t enjoy ‘regular’ sex, but it also meant that sometimes she had an itch that only very specific circumstances would scratch.

So after her little tussle with Orsino had failed to do much to calm the too warm, too tight feeling of her skin, or the niggling worries that still whirred around inside her head, she’d made a plan.

The bath was a gift from Anora, a monstrosity of a thing that could have easily fit three of her in it. The water was warm – Ana had had a few enchantments added to help the tub keep the heat – lightly scented with sweet oils, and from where she sat at her desk in her quarters, Orsino almost looked halfway to falling asleep. Almost, if she hadn’t known him well enough to recognise the excited tension in his muscles, the waiting gleam in half-lidded moss-coloured eyes.

It was tempting to join him… but no. With a smile, Ana turned back to her desk to finish her letters.

Alexius’ knock came at its usual time – long enough after evening meal that few would be left to see him in the main hall.

“Come in!” she called, still focused on her work.

The door opened, closed. She heard Alexius’ footsteps approach, pausing by the bathtub as the water rippled.

“I hope I’m not interrupting,” Alexius greeted, the teasing note in his voice making it clear he was not apologetic in the slightest if he was.

Orsino’s soft chuckle was warm and heady like the smooth Starkhaven whiskey Cabot sometimes got in. Ana felt it in her veins and had to bite the inside of her cheek not to turn and watch with hungry eyes. The urge intensified as she heard the slap of water against the side of the bath and the hushed brush of lips and breath as Orsino sat up for a kiss.

“I thought it was worth the effort, given the cold snap,” she said lightly, still making a show of working. “I’ve still got a few things to finish up, but you should join him.”

The suggestion was anything but, and both of them knew it. Still, Alexius was quiet for a moment and that prompted her to finally turn in her seat, propping an arm over the back of the chair to look at him.

She’d been worried, initially, how Alexius might take to orders – she didn’t imagine a high and mighty magister had much experience in being commanded. But she needn’t have worried in the slightest. Perhaps despite – or maybe even because of – his former status, Alexius followed orders _beautifully_.

There was a question in his eyes and a hint of growing warmth across his cheekbones. She let a little heat bleed through into her gaze, her smile slow and sultry.

“Well?” she asked expectantly.

The man nodded and began to undo his robes without further delay. She was tempted to stay where she was and watch – she always got something of a giddy thrill from watching her lovers’ undress – but she had a plan. So with a pleased hum, she turned back to her work.

There were a few minutes of rustling fabric, and then more splashing as Orsino manoeuvred to let Alexius join him in the tub.

As he sank into the water, Alexius gave a heartfelt groan and Orsino laughed again.

“Feeling the cold or your age, vhenan?” he teased.

“Both, these days,” Alexius admitted with a sigh, settling in. “And you’re not much younger than me, for the record – _ah_.”

Alexius’ quiet exclamation was paired with another shift in the water and Ana found her curiosity getting the better of her. Turning to look, she saw Orsino had shifted down the tub, letting Alexius take his previous spot, before turning and settling himself on the former magister’s lap, knees either side of his hips. Alexius’ hands had gone to the other man’s waist and for a moment, Ana allowed herself the luxury of admiring the two of them together, the contrasts between them. Orsino was always pale, no matter how often he went outside, his skin near translucent in the right light; whereas Alexius was a few shades darker, more akin to her own skin tone. His hands were broader, sturdier, while Orsino’s were fine and elegant. Elves by general rule had little by way of body hair, and what Orsino had was as silver as the hair on his head, while Alexius almost seemed to have a surplus of black and silver dusted over his arms, legs and chest, with a teasing line of tracing down his stomach to his groin. In a number of ways, they were a study of opposites and yet somehow the more she watched them, the more they seemed to fit together effortlessly.

Ana smiled as she caught Orsino glancing at her over his shoulder, a silent question in his raised brow.

“Go ahead,” she purred.

At her permission, Orsino turned back and pressed forward, kissing Alexius with enough force to tilt his head back against the edge of the bathtub. One of them gave a quiet groan, muffled enough she couldn’t be certain which it was, and she saw Alexius’ hands grip a little tighter, one curling around Orsino’s back to rest between his shoulder blades, the other sliding down to grip at his thigh between the water’s surface.

For a long moment, there was no sound in the room but the lap of water and gentle groans interspersed with quiet gasps. The kissing grew more intense, the light from the lamps glinting off of wet skin, and Orsino dipped his head, setting to making his mark on the sensitive skin of Alexius’ neck and collar – at least if the throaty moan he just made was anything to go by. His head slipped back against the edge of the tub, a hand coming up to twine fingers through silver strands, turning them a deep slate grey with the water.

Ana was almost tempted to let them carry on as they were. Or skip ahead in her plan.

After a considering glance back at her work, she made up her mind.

She didn’t miss the way Alexius’ eyes, slipped closed with Orsino’s attentions, snapped open at the scrape of her chair against the floor. A faint smirk tugged at her lips as she held his gaze, her hands moving to the buttons of her coat.

She’d forgone full robes today, sticking to a shirt, breeches and frock coat. Not only did it mean less hassle to take it all off, but it meant she got to enjoy the heat in her lover’s gaze as she slowly undid the buttons along with her cuffs, and then the front of the coat, before sliding the heavy fabric off of her shoulders, letting it land on the chair behind her. By the time she reached for her shirt cuffs, Orsino had turned as well, a hand braced against Alexius’ chest and his back a graceful twist as his eyes followed her movements. She didn’t go to remove the shirt, however, instead rolling up the sleeves to her elbow on one side, then the other. At her collar, she undid the first few buttons, baring her collarbones and the lacy edge of her underwear but nothing more.

In a few short steps, Ana approached the bath, snagging the stool next to the bed and drawing it behind the end where Alexius sat before taking a seat herself. From here, her legs were braced either side of the tub and when Alexius leaned back, the damp bristles of his hair scratched against the linen of her shirt.

She smiled down at them both, taking in the glassy look in Alexius’ eyes and the pink flush staining Orsino’s face and chest. Leaning forward, she reached a hand behind Orsino’s neck and pulled him into a kiss – one he leaned into eagerly, bracing himself against the tub as he licked and nipped at her lips. She could feel the thrum of his pulse against the palm of her head, hear the slight catch in his breath when she shifted her grip to scrape careful nails against his scalp. After a moment, she tightened her grip on his hair, tugging him back gently, shushing him as the barest whine left his throat.

Turning her attention to Alexius, she smiled down at him as she let one hand slide over his chest, scraping ever so slightly and being rewarded with his eyes fluttering closed for a brief moment, the rumble of a groan vibrating against her hands. Unable to resist the temptation, she leaned down, kissing him hard, swallowing the noises he made as she gave no quarter.

“You know, I don’t think I’ll ever tire of seeing that,” Orsino murmured, his voice hushed and almost reverent. Ana grinned at she drew back, her lips feeling bruised and the heat under her skin practically pulsing through her veins.

“Well, aren’t you lucky then, because I don’t think I’ll ever tire of doing it.”

Carefully, she slid her hands down Alexius’ arms to take hold of his wrists, pulling them back until his hands rested on her clothed thighs. She didn’t miss the hiss of breath at her steady grip holding him in place, or the way his entire body seemed to arch into the movement.

“Amatus?” she murmured, checking in.

“Anything,” he whispered, eyes closed and throat bared and utterly at her mercy. She smiled, seeing her moment.

“Anything, hmm? Well, in that case, I do have _one_ thing I’d like you to do.” She waited until Alexius nodded before continuing. “Tomorrow morning, I want you to join me for a walk on the battlements. I want you to take my arm as we walk, and I want you to kiss me good morning when we meet and goodbye when we part. Can you do that?”

Ana watched Alexius’ face as she spoke, saw his eyes slip open as he listened to her request, his expression clouding with something unreadable. He closed his eyes, took a heavy breath, then another, his hands twitching slightly under her hold but not, thankfully, pulling away.

“That… would be several things,” he pointed out quietly, a faint line growing between his brows.

Ana glanced towards Orsino, his face mirroring her own concern. They’d talked about this conversation, about how they might tackle it, but it didn’t make it any easier.

“Amatus. I understand why you want to hide… _this_ ,” she murmured, letting her thumbs rub against the hands in her grip in what she hoped was a comforting way. “I–”

“I’m not ashamed,” Alexius interrupted with quiet vehemence, eyes opening to look first at her, then Orsino. “If that’s what you’re worried about. I simply…” he paused, sighing. “I suppose I wanted to spare you any unnecessary criticism about your… entanglements.”

“I know. But I’m prepared to deal with that. It won’t be the first time people have disagreed with my choices and it certainly won’t be the last.”

“You’re not wrong there,” Orsino agreed, lips curling in a wry smile before he slipped a hand up to cup Alexius’ cheek, prompting him to look at him. “Ana and I – we’ve both spent too long living like we had to hide who and what we care for. We know the consequences, and we have made our choice.”

“We just don’t know yours,” Ana added.

For a long minute, the air held between them, muggy with the warmth from the bath, and taut like a wire on the edge of snapping. And then Alexius sighed, and it was as if all the fight bled out of him, his head leaning back to rest heavily against her lap.

“I am not the man I was,” he said, his voice quiet but steady in the stillness of the room. “I’m missing pieces of myself that I’m still not sure how to live without and I can’t pretend I have much hope for what the future holds. But whatever I have, for however long I have, it’s yours.”

Ana couldn’t have stopped the smile on her face if she’d tried, although she’d be damned if she admitted her eyes turning a little misty at the starkly honest declaration.

“I never wanted anything else.”

At that, Orsino’s normally endless patience finally appeared to wear out. He leaned in, catching Alexius’ lips in a deep, purposeful kiss that sent them both leaning over the edge of the tub and into Ana, leaving damp spots over her shirt and breeches.

“Well, now you’ll just have to take them off,” Alexius teased, even if the smile didn’t go quite a wide as it could have and there was still a hint of a shadow in his eyes.

She chuckled softly, leaning down to press a feather-light kiss against the tip of his nose.

“Later. For now, I believe I was interrupting you, love,” she said, darting a look at Orsino.

His answering smirk was dark and knowing, and against her, she could feel as much as hear Alexius’ sharp intake of breath. Later, she could peel off the last of her own layers and draw them both to her bed, but for now, she was happy to watch her lovers love and be loved.

And what more could she ask for than that?


	28. "Do I have to do everything here?" (Gen)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt 28: "Do I have to do everything here?"  
> Characters/Ship: Lia Lavellan; Cullen Rutherford  
> Rating: Gen  
> Warnings: Lia being a Chaotic Disaster; brief mention of morbid/intrusive thoughts

It was… late. Too late, really. The sun had sunk behind the Frostbacks hours ago and Lia was struggling to remember when dinner was.

… she _had_ had dinner, right?

Lia shook her head, trying to focus again on the mission report on the table in front of her. The words blurred together and she groaned.

Normally, she hated taking work up to her quarters. While Josephine had ordered in a gorgeous oak desk and a surprisingly comfortable chair for her to work at, she found she just couldn’t focus when she tried to catch up on work there – or worse, when she finally set down her paperwork to head to bed, her brain just didn’t switch off like it should, details of treaties and troop requisitions swirling around in her head. But with preparations for the Winter Palace underway, things had ramped up dramatically and suddenly the trickle of reports and forms and background reading turned into a deluge.

Lia eyed the stack of papers still waiting to be checked and signed, along with the scattering of books on half a dozen subjects she needed some basic knowledge of and some letters Leliana had passed on… maybe if she got up early, she could get more of them finished off before the next meeting?

A plan decided, she began to pile the most urgent items in a stack on the table. First came the books – Josephine had urged her to brush up on Orlesian culture and history, so she added two of those. Then both Solas and Ana had stopped by with some recommendations on the history of the Blight and known theories; she glanced between the two books, made a face at the thick and foreboding looking tome Solas had offered and took the far thinner, much more modern account Ana had recommended. Then there were half a dozen requisition forms and troop manifests that Cullen needed her confirmation on, five reports from Leliana’s agents in the field, and four rather lengthy trade treaties from Josephine. Finally, she added the bundle of letters forwarded on from Vivienne, Varric and Dorian from their respective contacts to read over and consider. Happy with the almost-tidy pile, Lia quickly snuffed out the lamps and gathered her things to go.

Holding the stack from the base and bracing her chin against the top, it was just about manageable. Thankfully, the door to the War Room was still open – the lock was still in the process of getting fixed since the last time she and Ana had gotten stuck in here, so she managed to duck through the doorway with little issue. The small set of steps leading to Josephine’s office were more tricky, and she took them sideways, peering down at her feet out of the corner of her eye.

Then there was the door.

Sticking her tongue out between her teeth, Lia turned first to try and nudge the handle with her elbow, only for the stack to wobble dangerously as she leaned back. Uprighting herself quickly, she stared at the door for a minute before trying a different tactic. Stepping back, she lifted her right leg, pushing the heel down on the handle until it clicked, and she grinned to herself, hoping forward to push it open before she dropped her leg and pushed the door the rest of the way open with her shoulder.

Thankfully, Josephine had already taken herself off to bed – and no, now was definitely _not_ the time to start thinking of her tucked away in a cosy bed, probably in some prettily delicate silken thing, her hair soft and loose and–

_Nope, definitely not going there._

At least it meant there were no witnesses to Lia repeating her new trick on the next door, with a quick kick to get the door handle and a hurried hop to catch it before it closed again on her. With some shuffling and delicate manoeuvring, she edged through the door and into the landing between the office and the main hall. To one side, the stairs down to the lower levels and the kitchens yawned ominously, the lamps already extinguished down there and Lia had to suppress a shiver. There were so many little corners and crannies to Skyhold, she could never quite suppress the horrible vision of slipping down some winding, derelict staircase and breaking her legs, or worse, her neck, only to be found hours or days later by some wandering guard. An ignoble end to an ignoble Inquisitor.

She shivered again before shaking her head a little, or as much as she could without dislodging her bundle. Late nights always made her morbid – all the more reason to get back to her room and settle into bed herself.

Letting the door behind her close, she raised her foot to nudge at the next door handle.

It didn’t budge.

Lia frowned, pushing harder. No change.

“Oh, come _on!_ ” she muttered under her breath. She rocked back before pushing forward again, lifting her leg to kick down hard on the door. It held for a moment, then gave – completely. Lia landed heavily on her front foot, registering the metal clanging of the handle hitting the ground. It bounced with the force of the impact, skidding off to the side and then clanging as it skittered down the dark, empty stairs to her side.

Lia stood frozen, hunched over her pile of books and papers.

“Shit.”

She bit her lip, eyeing the stairs. There was no way she was making it down there in one piece, not without just dumping all of this stuff here for Josephine or some unlucky servant to likely trip on tomorrow morning. Eyeing the door, she lifted her foot again, nudging the wood to see if at least the catch had gone too.

It held firm. No such luck.

“Hello?” she called, raising her voice in the vain hope that someone was still lingering out there – maybe Varric, scribbling in his notepad by the fire, or maybe Solas over in the rotunda. “Hello, could someone open the door?”

When no reply came, she groaned, thudding her head against the door.

“Lavellan?”

Lia’s eyes shot open. “Cullen? Thank – _whoever_ – just, the door’s stuck and – can you try and open it from your side?”

Her words tripped over themselves as she tried not to admit her own part in her predicament.

“ _Again_?”

Lia rolled her eyes, practically seeing the incredulous look on the Commander’s face in her mind’s eye.

“Yes, Cullen, again. And I would really love to sleep sometime tonight so if we could leave the lecture about my terrible, no-good, worst-in-the-world luck, I’d really appreciate it.”

The bugger laughed – of course, he laughed, so would she in his place – but she could hear him approach the door. There was a metallic rattle as he grasped the door handle and–

“It’s stuck,” came Cullen’s voice from the other side of the door.

Lia bit her tongue to stop herself swearing. “No shit.” Oops.

The Commander gave a weary sigh. “Give me a moment. Maybe I can…”

His words faded to vague mumblings and Lia found herself repressing the urge to scream.

_Do I have to do everything here?_

She shook her head. No, she was getting out of here and she was getting into her own, comfortable bed with the soft halla-wool blanket Keeper Deshanna had given her and her raggedy stuffed frog that she’d had since she was six (not that she’d ever admit she still fell asleep cuddling Ser Tadpole sometimes) and _no sodding door was going to stop her_.

“Cullen, I’m going to try something,” she said, not really listening to his muttering any more as she stepped away, pressing herself against the door at her back. Then she lunged forward with her shoulder, throwing all her weight behind it.

She was almost there when she heard the tell-tale click of the door latch opening.

The next few seconds were a flurry of motion as the door swung open and no longer able to stop, Lia crashed into the Commander who was standing up after kneeling in front of the door to unjam the lock. Her carefully organised pile of papers went flying across the floor and with a grunt and a yelp, the pair landed in a heap on the rug.

Lia lay on the ground for a moment, trying to decide if the object digging into her shoulder blade was a book or Cullen’s elbow when she heard the man snort.

“Tell me, have you always been this…”

“Destructive?” she offered, turning her head to see Cullen staring up at the ceiling in something between amusement and doomed resignation.

“I was leaning more towards ‘chaotic’. But I suppose that works.”

“You’ll have to ask my sister,” Lia suggested as she sat up, taking a look around and making sure that nothing had been injured beyond her dignity. “Though she’d say yes anyway. Maybe don’t ask her. Or say anything about this to her. Er, sorry about that,” she added with a chagrined smile. “You alright?”

Cullen nodded, pulling himself up as well. “I’ve had worse.”

He looked around at the scattered piles of reports and letters and raised an eyebrow.

“And people tell me I overwork.”

Lia snorted but set to work gathering her things together once more, even if the pile was now somewhat more haphazard than it had been.

“Here, let me,” Cullen offered and grabbed the books, and another bundle of letters, tucking them under his arm as he stood. “Maker knows I’m not sure you can be trusted to make it safely to your room.”

His tone was deadpan but Lia didn’t miss the twitch at the corner of his mouth as she took the proffered hand up.

“Creators, Cullen, did you just make a _joke_?”

Cullen gave a quiet chuckle, shrugging. “It has been known to happen.”

“And yet it’s still hard to believe,” she replied with a smirk, before sauntering over to the door leading up to her rooms. “Very well, Commander, as I am clearly such a hazard to my own health, you have permission to _escort_ me to my quarters.”

Something in the teasing way she’d phrased it must have registered with Cullen because when she glanced back over her shoulder he looked something again to a fish, gaping and turning slightly red at the ears.

“I– Inquisitor, I didn’t mean – well, I meant–”

Lia tried not to laugh. Sort of. Not really.

“Oh, your _face_ ,” she crowed, still unable to swallow back her laughter as he scowled. She shook her head. “Don’t worry, Cullen, your virtue is quite safe. You’re, ah, not quite my type.”

Cullen was still glowering, albeit half-heartedly, but a half-smile curled at his lips as he followed.

“No, I hear I’m not,” he replied with a knowing look as he passed her, opening the door to allow her through.

Lia frowned, watching him out of the corner of her eye. “What’s that meant to mean?”

“Hm? Nothing.” He was grinning now.

“Cullen.”

“Really, it’s nothing.”

“Cullen.”

“Certainly nothing to do with Lady Joseph–”

“ _Cullen!_ ”

Even as her screech echoed along the stairs, Cullen’s laughter joined it.

“Arse,” she muttered, without much heat.

And Cullen simply smiled.


	29. "Did I ask?" (Iron Bull/Dorian)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt 29: "Did I ask?"  
> Characters/Ship: Dorian Pavus; Cole [Iron Bull/Dorian]  
> Rating: Teen  
> Warnings: Halward Pavus’ shitty parenting; depression/thoughts of low self-worth; implied use of alcohol as an emotional crutch

He wasn’t quite drunk enough for his tastes when he left the Herald’s Rest – although how anyone could get anywhere close to inebriated on that watered-down swill Cabot served still mystified Dorian even when he was sober. Still, he’d made a decent attempt, right up until he realised the nature of his thoughts was turning towards the… _unwise_.

They’d been doing that a lot, recently. Some might say he hadn’t had a wise thought since he’d taken the notion to flee Tevinter.

He tried not to think too hard about that. Which led to thinking about his original problem and Maker why was the walk to his room so bloody long?

By small mercies, he managed not to run into anyone beyond the occasional drably-dressed guard on his way back, and the cool night air even managed to blow away the worst of the fuzziness clouding his head. The way Dorian’s luck had been running recently, he’d half-expected to run into Alexius on his way past the main hall, ready with some bothersome advice about overindulgence, delivered in a tone halfway between chastisement and concern. He’d done it before. Times like this, he missed Felix all the more keenly – had the old man always been so worrisome? Felix would know.

It didn’t matter. Something told Dorian he had, and he still wasn’t sure how to feel about it.

Being worried about was _new_. Normally, they – his father, his mother, his instructors – worried about how he looked or how he behaved or what he said. Worried about his reputation or the company he kept (or didn’t) or the future he was seemingly so intent on frittering away. Not him. Not really.

He gave himself a shake, trying to deter that particular train of thought as he reached his room, unlocking the door. Old thoughts, maudlin and more befitting a bereft child than a grown man. Nothing that mattered.

With a flick of the wrist, the lamps hanging from the walls flared to life, bathing the little room in a warm glow. He blinked, suddenly aware of how heavy his eyes felt. Sitting on the edge of the bed, he only barely considered undressing before lying back against the small mountain of blankets and furs he’d managed to gather against the blasted southern cold. He just needed a moment to close his eyes. A moment couldn’t hurt.

The terrible ale still warm in his blood, he let his thoughts drift without paying too much attention to them. Which inevitably meant they wandered right back the direction he didn’t want them to go.

He swore viciously under his breath.

It was all the Bull’s fault.

Dorian was quite happy with a casual flirtation. It was something he was rather good at and he certainly enjoyed it, regardless of the other participant. And past the crass, oafish exterior, Bull was far smarter and a lot more observant than most gave him credit for – beyond their little circle, most in the Inquisition wrote him off as a _big dumb qunari_ , much in the same way they considered Dorian nothing more than a _moustache-twiddling evil ‘Vint_. So they didn’t just flirt, sometimes they even talked – about various things, provided it didn’t stray too close to their homelands’ respective conflicts. But there was a lot of flirting, and a lot of meaningful looks and not-so-subtle hints and…

_Ugh_.

He was interested. Bull was obviously interested. And fucking was fucking, and it had been a while and he was curious… So why had he made his excuses and bolted out of the tavern the minute it looked like the qunari might actually be about to make a move?

“Because he’s real to you and that means it can hurt.”

Dorian absolutely did _not_ shriek like a trodden-on cat, much in the same way he did _not_ flail around in an ungainly attempt to leap off the bed and face his intruder, only to wind up with one of the blankets trapped in one of his many, many buckles, forcing him to sit untangling himself for several minutes.

Perched on the chair near the window, Cole waited.

Dorian tried to muster up a glare as he finally freed himself from the bed linens, but it felt rather lacklustre with his pulse still hammering in his chest, his breath rattling in his lungs.

“ _Please_ tell me you haven’t been there the whole time.”

Cole tilted his head, as if the question confused him. Or maybe it was just the concept of time and space and object permanence. It wouldn’t surprise him.

“Thoughts rattling, loud, louder, loudest. The questions hurt. I wanted to help.”

Dorian’s lip curled in a sneer. “Did I ask?”

“No. Not out loud,” Cole replied, still watching him in that quiet, unflinching way that left him feeling like he’d been caught out at something.

Dorian sighed.

“Cole, I believe Ana and Solas have spoken to you about the business of entering other people’s quarters by invitation only, yes? As in, you knock at the door, I answer, I tell you to run along so I can get some sleep, yes?”

Cole just stared some more. _Delightful_.

“I appreciate the thought, I do. But it’s late, I’ve had a bit to drink and I’d rather just like to go to bed,” Dorian said, trying a different tactic. “Perhaps we could reschedule this little heart to heart for a more companionable hour?”

There was another beat of silence and Dorian began to wonder if he was just going to have to try and sleep with the strange boy sat in the corner of his room when finally Cole spoke.

“Far from home, the voices are softer, further away. Bits of an old song but the words don’t quite fit any more. He doesn’t fit any more, too broken, too different. He doesn’t think about it, doesn’t talk about it. Hides the question in his head, hides behind what he wants them to see.”

Dorian swallowed, gritting his teeth.

“Cole. That’s enough.”

The boy continued, as if unhearing. “He hides, but he hides less with you. And you hide less with him. You’re different, but the same. You fit.”

Dorian’s stomach dropped, a dizzying, free fall sort of feeling that had him gripping the edge of the bed to make certain he wasn’t actually about to fall over.

“Cole,” he said, quiet voice feeling far too loud in the otherwise silent room. “Cole – who are you talking about?”

The minute the words left his lips, he found himself looking at an empty chair.

Dorian shook his head. Of course, it was empty, why wouldn’t it be? More to the point, why was he talking to himself – what had he even been saying? Try as he might, he can’t quite remember, like an old melody he could only recall a handful of notes to.

He stared at the empty chair, suddenly not feeling anywhere close to tired any more, although his head felt clearer and the tight, heavy feeling that had been taking root in his chest seemed to have miraculously disappeared. He spared a glance towards the window, the occasional ebb of chatter and cheers from the tavern drifting up from below, and he frowned, hesitating, wondering what had seemed so important that he headed back to his rooms before the night was really done.

_Sod it. Why not live a little?_

Decided, Dorian took a moment to check in the mirror on the wall that he was still presentable, then with a nod at his reflection, he turned and made his way out the door, his feet leading him back the way he’d come to the Herald’s Rest. He hesitated again as he opened the door, feeling oddly like someone was watching him out in the courtyard – there was a call from the table at the back and a familiar grey hand waving him over. Dorian pulled on his most winning smile, and the door swung closed behind him, the thought already forgotten.

Outside, Cole smiled and was happy. He had helped.


	30. "Will you look at this?" (unrequited Solas/OC)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt 30: "Will you look at this?"  
> Characters/Ship: Solas; Ana Faber (unrequited Solas/OC)  
> Rating: Gen  
> Warnings: mentions of pre-story family death; Solas lying by omission

Solas had become strangely accustomed to someone wandering into his rotunda – and it was _his_ , for all that he had stood aside and allowed Inquisitor Lavellan to mark Skyhold as her own – at varying hours, usually with some notice or query, perhaps a curious trinket picked up on a scouting trip or a dusty tome in some half-forgotten language they hoped he might have seen some remnants of. And while he enjoyed his peace and private meditations, he also enjoyed the questions. A sign that those around him still were present enough to study and consider the world around them with sharp eyes and curious minds.

Lavellan herself visited only occasionally, clearly only when her responsibilities required it. They rarely saw eye to eye and it was, perhaps, for the best that they shared no great amount of time together outside of missions. She had little willingness to learn anything that disproved her pre-established views, and he had little patience for her stubbornness.

He was quite aware of the irony there.

So when it was Ana, and not her sister, that appeared through his door late that evening, a query already on her lips, he was somewhat relieved. The Enchanter was infinitely more agreeable company, even if she approached him with several heavy tomes balanced in her arms and a pinched frown on her face.

“Will you look at this?” she asked, gesturing to the small tower of books she held. “If you’re free, of course.”

“My friend,” he greeted, pushing his chair back from the desk as she approached. “How can I assist?”

Ana shot him a grateful look as she set the books down, her smile almost bashful.

“Apologies, I know it’s late – I got sidetracked looking into one thing and managed to stumble across something else entirely,” she explained, flicking through the pages of the first book until she found what she was looking for. “Ah, here it is.”

Solas moved around the desk, arriving by Ana’s side to peer over her shoulder at the faded writing below.

“I’ve been trying to help Dorian see if we can confirm Corypheus’ origins, but I ran across this segment here discussing some of the old magisters who had access to devices that by description resemble the foci we saw at Haven. There are a few records I found, just by cross-referencing, but it looks like there have likely been at least three or four of these resurfacing at various points in Tevinter history. And here,” she added, flipping through the pages in another text, “I found some commentary about how they worked.”

Solas nodded, allowing Ana to pass him the book to take a closer look. “The notes do seem to match up with what we were able to witness,” he replied cautiously, “and with what I’ve seen of these devices in the Fade. I’m more concerned with the suggestion more may still be in circulation, however.”

“So was I,” Ana agreed, “but from what I can gather, the ones mentioned were all destroyed or lost during the driving back of the Imperium. I’ve made a few notes where we could potentially try looking, but it’s unlikely we’ll find anything.”

Solas held his expression, careful not to let the faint sting of disappointment show. No, he’d suspected any other foci that had remained would have been lost – all the more reason to get back the one currently in Corypheus’ possession. Instead, he allowed his eyes to scan the rest of the page, taking in any pertinent details before he spoke again.

“I suspect this is about more than a potential fool’s hunt,” he said, looking back towards Ana with a raised eyebrow.

She met his eye, then glanced away again, expression thoughtful.

“Is it possible – I mean, are we _sure_ these devices are of elvhen origin?” she asked, looking back at him. “If the ancient magisters had access to these foci – however rare they were – can we know for certain they weren’t able to replicate them? That perhaps the one Corypheus carries isn’t in fact a relic of the elves but something he made himself – perhaps in his first attempt to access the Black City?”

Solas frowned. That had not been the line of questioning he’d expected – but then, Ana’s questions rarely fell into the realms of predictable. A trait he both enjoyed and occasionally, such as now, dreaded.

“It may have been possible,” he replied, choosing his words carefully. “However, if they did, it is not something I have been lucky enough to witness memory of in the Fade. All the more reason to see if we can retrieve this particular foci intact – I imagine it would be far easier to determine its true origin once we can study it more closely.”

Ana nodded, her lips pursed in an uncertain line. “No, that makes sense,” she replied, shrugging and giving him a rueful sort of smile. “It was an idle thought, nothing more.”

Her sombre tone indicated otherwise. Solas hesitated for a moment. It would be wise to leave the matter here – by her own admission, it was late, and part of him was already restless with the urge to slip away from the waking world to the one beyond the Veil, to walk ancient paths and wonder at new sights. Perhaps, she might even join him, if he asked.

He did not ask. Not out of any distaste for her company – in all honestly, Ana was a delight as a companion and took almost as much interest and joy in discovery as he. But whenever he woke after their travels, he found himself caught in a maelstrom of hope and despair at having found someone to join him in his explorations, only to know he would have to leave it behind when this was done.

Instead, he studied her for a moment. She caught his eye, raising an eyebrow of her own.

“What?”

“Nothing,” he replied, shaking his head. “I’m simply wondering why it troubles you as much as it does. As far as I was aware, your interest in elvhen history was primarily academic.”

Ana opened her mouth, closed it again. She gave a quiet huff, shaking her head.

“It is, mostly. I know Lia’s obviously more invested in our history, now she’s got her clan to think about, but I suppose it always felt a little… distant. Like I was never really part of it all, you know?”

Solas nodded. He knew that feeling well enough, watching the elves of this world and feeling no more kinship with them than he did with any human, dwarf or qunari. Most of them, at least.

Some had managed to surprise him.

“My father was Dalish,” she said after a moment. “He was captured by slavers on the border when he was still a boy, so he only ever really remembered fragments – bits of stories here and there, half-formed traditions. But he made sure we kept what we could. I didn’t think much of them when I was little, it was just how we grew up, and then I left for my studies and it all sort of… faded.” She sighed, leaning back against the desk and looking around the rotunda, her eyes following the lines and details of the fresco currently in progress. “It was his birthday today,” she added quietly, her hand reaching to play at something below her high collar. “I suppose I started wondering what he might have thought of all this.”

Solas frowned, unsure how to respond for a moment. He knew grief, the kind that wept the loss of something grand and irreplaceable, but this soft, quiet sorrow was something unknown to him – a sadness both worn down but still made fresh by time. He longed, for a moment, for Cole’s innate sense, for the knowledge to give comfort while also respecting her grief.

Before he could move himself to action, Ana turned back to him, offering a smile, albeit slightly strained.

“My apologies. You hardly need to listen to my moping.”

Solas shook his head quickly. “It is – no trouble. You are my friend and I am happy to listen, even if I will admit I’m perhaps not the best at offering consolation.” He paused, then added, “It sounds as though he meant a great deal to you.”

Ana’s smile softened, turning sad at the edges.

“He did. I… missed him a lot, when I went away.” Her hand went back to her collar, tugging out a thin, black strap with a small, silver pendant attached. “He gave me this the morning I left – he said it was an old Dalish talisman, one of the few things he’d been able to hide when he was caught. He told me it would keep me safe, no matter where I went.” She laughed a little. “Given I’ve made it this far, maybe there’s something to it.”

She held it out for him to see and Solas dutifully stepped forward, raising a hand to look at the pendant more closely. The trinket was old, far older than any Dalish clan Solas knew of, likely a relic of a time before his people’s fall. The strap holding it around Ana’s neck was clearly not the original and much of the pendant’s detail had been worn away by time and wear, but he could still make out the main design over the front of the pendant – a many-eyed wolf, cloaked in night.

“This is a talisman of Fen’Harel,” he murmured, turning the pendant carefully over in his hand. “I understand the Dalish usually give these to their hunters. They believe that should the hunter cross paths with the Dread Wolf, he would see the talisman and mistake the hunter for his own, leaving them be.” He allowed himself a wry smile, handing pendant back and stepping away. “The truth is, of course, nothing so whimsical. The Dread Wolf would give tokens such as these to his allies and agents, those who could be trusted, and it allowed him to distinguish quickly between friend and foe. Or, so my own explorations have indicated, at least.”

He stopped, worried for a moment he had spoken too frankly – or, as he considered the previous conversation, perhaps even offended her. It was one thing to learn a half-remembered tale was little more than fiction; quite another to know a treasured gift from a loved one did not carry the sentiment it was shared with.

But he need not have worried. Ana’s smile was bright and there was even a glint of amusement in her eyes as she straightened herself, giving the pendant one last look before tucking it back beneath her collar.

“Well, good to know I’m fairly safe if we ever run into Fen’Harel,” she remarked. “Although with everything else going on, I’m half wondering if it might be safer on Lia.”

Solas chuckled. “Perhaps, although I believe she’s quite well-defended. Besides,” he added, regarding her warmly, “I believe he’d be pleased to see it in such worthy hands.”

“Thanks – I _think_ ,” Ana replied with a laugh, before turning to collect her books. “I should get going. Maker knows the pile of paperwork Leliana left on my desk still needs a look at, and I’ve wasted quite enough of your time. Goodnight, Solas, and thanks again for – well, for listening.”

He nodded, watching as Ana made her way back towards the library and her office.

“Goodnight, my friend.”

As she disappeared with a smile and a wave, Solas felt his own mask drop for a moment. He frowned at the space where she’d stood.

_Ir abelas, lethallan. In another time…_


	31. "This, this makes it all worth it." (Gen)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt 31: "This, this makes it all worth it."  
> Characters/Ship: Callum Hawke; Lia Lavellan  
> Rating: Gen  
> Warnings: mild angst/guilt; Anders survived DA2 and is AWOL

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> References made to Day 11, and how Ana and Callum know each other.

For being out in the arse-crack of nowhere, Skyhold was surprisingly pretty.

To be fair, Callum Hawke suspected his personal barometer might be somewhat skewed (or just plain broken) after nearly a decade stuck in the pit that was Kirkwall. But he had a feeling that the sprawling ancient fort nestled in the gaps between sweeping, snow-topped peaks probably held some appeal to people with a more traditional sense in aesthetics. If nothing else, it was nice to wander around somewhere without worrying about getting recognised – or mugged, stabbed, or lit on fire.

Really, at this point, his bar wasn’t particularly high.

The afternoon was cool and clear, winter finally settling in properly. He’d paused on the battlements looking out over the courtyard, leaving Reaver to wander over to a convenient spot of sun and sprawl there like the glorious, slobbery beast he was. From where Hawke stood, he could see most of the keep carrying on with their day-to-day business – Cullen had soldiers running exercises, his barked orders carrying over the quiet mountain air, while by the lower levels Orsino was out with some of the younger apprentices. From the looks of it, they were running through basic staff-work. He grimaced slightly, remembering the drills his father used to drag him and Bethany through when they were little – always first thing in the morning, out in the barn, rain, shine or snow.

He smiled, a little sadly, as he watched the lesson unfold, the former First Enchanter offering pointers here and there. It hurt a little, to think of them both, even if it had more than ten years since he’d lost either of them. It probably always would, a painful pang that just became part and parcel of his memories. But watching the younger mages – not one older than nine or ten, he’d wager – he felt a little more at peace. Maybe they’d get to grow up without the need to hide or facing a prison to contain them. He hoped they would, hoped whatever the Inquisition was building here would last.

Varric had told him what had happened with the mage rebellion, how the Inquisition had offered them a place as full allies, free in their own right. He’d wondered then, as he did now, what Anders might have thought of the whole thing – if there was much of Anders left, anyway, wherever it was he’d escaped to. Thinking of the man he’d called a friend and a brother-in-arms also left a bitter pain in his chest, although that lay more in his own guilt at not seeing what was right in front of him until it was too late.

Hawke shook his head. Fenris had told him more than once, he’d done the best he could with the hand he’d been dealt; that many would have done far worse, even with better. Some days he believed him; others, not so much.

“Enjoying the view?”

Hawke glanced back over his shoulder, spying Lia approaching down the battlement steps, skipping them two at a time with an easy smile on her face. Growing up with a set of twins had given him no illusions that two people born on the same day could be miles apart in personality, but it still always struck him that he seldom noticed Lia and Ana were identical. Just something in how each of them carried themselves, like chalk and cheese, it was almost impossible to mix the two up.

He greeted the Inquisitor with a nod, glancing back out towards the yard.

“Just wondering if I should be taking a few pointers,” he joked, nodding to the on-going lesson. “Can’t say my education was the most extensive, all things considered.”

“I thought your father came from a Circle?” Lia asked, joining him at the battlements. “Least that’s what Ana said.”

Hawke shrugged. “He’d passed his Harrowing and had a few years training apprentices, so he had the basics covered. But he never really got a chance to study more after leaving Kirkwall. Honestly, I think that’s half the reason he let your sister stay with us – I’d catch them discussing weird obscure magical theory early before breakfast. Mother never really had a mind for it all, and I think he’d missed having someone to talk to about magic who didn’t need reminding not to ‘accidentally’ freeze the neighbours’ duck pond.”

He could see Lia’s raised eyebrow out of the corner of his eye.

“That happen a lot then?” she prodded.

He gave her a wide, toothy grin, but admitted nothing.

They stood there for a long moment, watching as Orsino approached one of the younger children, a little girl with dark pigtails, adjusting her grip on the small training staff with a few words and an encouraging smile.

“I’m glad he did, whatever the reason,” she said after a moment, tone quiet and thoughtful enough to have Hawke turn to look at her curiously. “I feel better knowing someone was looking out for her back then, even if it wasn’t me.”

“She mentioned you fought before she left Gwaren.”

Lia hummed in acknowledgement. “Money was tight. A friend of hers had helped us out by getting us a boat out of Tevinter and she gave us some money to get ourselves sorted out but – I got sick on the boat down and Ana had to spend it on getting us somewhere safe and on medicine and food and the like. There wasn’t much left by the time I was back on my feet so I took any job going, no matter how stupid or risky. And I couldn’t risk Ana going out and getting caught by some Templar, but she didn’t see it like that.”

She laughed, quietly and without much humour to it, shaking her head.

“We were both pretty stupid back then, and just as stubborn. We fought over dumb crap and blamed each other for things that couldn’t be helped. One fight too many and I came back to find she’d packed up her things and left.”

Hawke nodded at that. It was a familiar scenario. He’d lost count of the number of times he’d wake up in the night to one more hushed argument outside the bedroom and find his father gone in the morning. Then they’d start to pack up their things and within a few days, they’d be on the road, finding somewhere else to settle. And sure as clockwork, within the month, Dad would reappear and things would go on as normal until the next time. When he’d gotten old enough for his magic to show, he’d taken him with him, and later Bethany too. The life of an apostate wasn’t one for putting down roots or staying put – even if you wanted to.

“I was angry at everything after that,” Lia admitted, “at Ana, at the whole shitshow we’d ended up in, at the world, at myself. It all seemed so pointless, so fucking unfair. Still is.” She snorted. “Kind feel bad, really.”

Hawke peered at her, eyebrows raised. “What for? It’s not been you swiping all the decent wine from the kitchens, has it?”

Lia chuckled, shaking her head. “No, it’s just… I guess I’m – happy?” she said, lingering on the word like she didn’t quite trust it. “I think, anyway. I mean, there’s a crazy ancient magister trying to end the world and Templars jumped up to the eyeballs with that weird red lyrium and Tevinter cultists and a whole host of other weird shit including my own hand turning into a permanent night lamp and I’m standing here feeling like this,” she gestured towards the yard, “this makes it all worth it.”

Hawke stared at her for a moment, then looked out to the yard – really _looked_. He watched the soldiers finish up their drills and filter off into their groups, talking and laughing and trading remarks, and Cullen fussing with some bit of paperwork before the Tevinter mage – Dorian, was it? - wandered over and made some comment, drawing a grin and a chuckle. And then he focused on Orsino, the older mage in his element, a lifetime away from the shell of a man he remembered from the Gallows, with his group of apprentices who stood alert and eager to learn, happy and safe and not needing to hide or run.

He thought of a city burning and people dying, and wondered if any of it hadn’t happened, would any of this still be here? Would it be any different? Or did everything have to come crumbling down, the world razed to the foundations before something better could be built over it?

For once, Hawke looked at his decisions, imperfect though they were, and found for once that he had no regrets.

He smiled, a crooked half-grin, glancing down at the woman beside him.

“Maybe it is,” he said.

Lia looked back at him, before smiling back. With a nod, she turned back out to the courtyard.

“Yeah,” she agreed. “I guess it is.”


End file.
